4 19 95

In April of 1995, I was 7 years old and only months separated from coming just about as close as you can to death and not crossing to the other side. I was scarred. My finger and toenails had all just fallen out. I was pale and skinny and my hair was still growing from being shaved in The Hospital.

I do not remember April 19, 1995. Not specifically. Not the day and definitely not the Specific Moment. A lot of people, even people my age, do. You will or have probably had opportunity to read beautiful memorials and haunting stories from people who experienced or at least remember The Bombing specifically. This will not be that. What I offer is probably less than those directly impacted deserve, but it is all I have.

I did not know of the Murrah Building prior to The Bombing. It was downtown. In the 1990s, there was little to no reason for anyone who did not work there to ever venture to Downtown OKC, particularly little kids. I had never seen the building whole. Or, if I had seen it briefly passing by on the highway I had little reason to mark it.

In my memories, the Murrah Building is only a half destroyed husk. A pile of rubble and, hidden underneath, bodies. That is how it was introduced to me. I have seen pictures of it whole from Before and I do not recognize it.

I do not remember April 19, 1995. Not specifically. Not the day and definitely not the Specific Moment. But I remember the days and weeks and months and years after.

The Bombing quickly became a fact of life. If a TV was on, there was a good chance something would pop up about The Bombing. I wouldn’t be surprised if at least the local news had at least one Bombing related segment in every broadcast for years. You couldn’t escape it. You turned on the TV and there was that building in the only way I can remember it.

I saw the Murrah Building once in real life from a distance. We went to some small memorial or service or maybe we just went to gawk. I don’t remember why. I just remember the Building.

I don’t recall having any big reaction to any of it. I knew it was big news. I knew it was a terrible thing. My parents tended to hide the Bad Things of the World from me when I was young. Maybe that’s something all parents do - try to shield the innocence of their children. Maybe they tried to hide The Bombing at first. Maybe that’s why I don’t remember the day. Either way, though, it was too late. I knew the ways of the world. Bad Things happened; I knew that first hand from The Hospital. This was just another Bad Thing.

At daycare, we were asked to create a card to support children impacted by The Bombing. Survivors? Children whose parents were hurt or killed? I don’t really know. If they explained it more clearly I don’t remember. But it was supposed to help, they said. I didn’t know what to draw in my corner. I ended up drawing The Bombing, as I understood it. “No,” they said, “we don’t want to remind them of it.” I drew a “No” symbol over it as if to repudiate the fact The Bombing ever happened. Maybe that was better. I’ve always feared I ruined the card.

I recently came into possession of cards made by classmates from when I was ill in the hospital. More than one just pictured a kid sick in bed. Maybe that’s just how little kids can relate to a Bad Thing sometimes - by picturing it.

Wikipedia reminds me that the Murrah Building was demolished on May 23, 1995. I don’t remember April 19, 1995, but I remember when the remains were demolished barely over a month later. At the time, it felt like The Building had stood half demolished for far longer. Maybe forever. Maybe it is still there, that way. Sometimes it feels like it is.

I remember a particular Bombing related news segment from a year or two later. I was in my room. It was the late news, so they probably didn’t expect an 8 or 9 year old to be watching. Maybe I was 10. The Bombing related news segment was about the potential mental health impact having obligatory Bombing Related News Segments on every broadcast might have on the mental health of Oklahoma children. I distinctly remember feeling this didn’t apply to me, an Oklahoma child. It was about other children who were actually impacted by The Bombing. I was fine. It didn’t impact me.

I do not remember April 19, 1995. Not specifically. Not the day and definitely not the Specific Moment. But I do remember what happened after.

The only trial in the 90s I knew anything about was Timothy McVeigh’s trial. I’m sure I didn’t understand half of the details, but I knew he did The Bombing. His face was in at least half of the regular news segments, particularly as The Trial took prominence over The Bombing itself. I can picture it easily. White guy crew cut. His face was everywhere.

My mom used to save money by cutting our hair. Crew cuts. Years later she looked at a rare old picture of me and said I looked like a punk. I think I looked like a terrorist.

I watched the Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. I enjoyed it, but had a visceral reaction at how much Snow looked like McVeigh after he received a crew cut. McVeigh’s face is forever in my mind. Like The Building.

I don’t believe in the death penalty. I’m glad McVeigh is dead.

Surrounding the ruined husk of The Building, then the demolition site where The Building once stood, and then around the future site of the Oklahoma City Memorial was a Fence. On The Fence, people placed objects in memoriam for the victims of The Bombing. These objects were things from victims’ lives, or cards, or presents that could never be given to the person themselves. I wanted to leave something, but I never did. I didn’t know anyone. Who was I to leave anything? It wasn’t my place. This Bad Thing had nothing to do with me. There is a small section of The Fence remaining outside the Memorial. I wonder who places objects now.

The official Memorial is quiet. Serene. Beautiful. I think to myself they should have just kept The Fence as it was.

Near the former site of The Building and part of the current Memorial is The Survivor Tree. When most things surrounding The Building were destroyed in The Bombing, The Tree survived. I love that tree. I don’t know why. The Bombing has nothing to do with me. I did not survive The Bombing. But I did survive and so did that Tree. It has become the logo of the Memorial and the symbol of OKC perseverance. I imagine in a more primitive time The Tree might have become a place or object of worship. Today, it is branding.

I do not remember April 19, 1995. Not specifically. Not the day and definitely not the Specific Moment. But I remember every moment since.

They say the millennial experience is defined by constant once-in-a-lifetime tragedies. Disasters. Terrorist attacks. Wars. Recessions. Pandemics. Maybe it is true. This is all we know. Maybe prior generations had better times before these things, but maybe this is just life. I hope the following generations get to experience a better world, but I fear what’s coming next.

For me, it all goes back to The Hospital. The Bombing. The Building. The Fence.

I try to focus on The Tree.