Ambassador Chris Stevens died one year ago today in Libya. I won't go into how he died or why he died because I don't think anyone knows except those in the know, so to speak. I never met him, but I've been to his grave site. He's buried near me and his place of rest is not fancy, instead he is buried near his grandparents and the last time I was there, there was a plastic grape juice container with flowers in it--the flags that marked the spot, weathered and faded, nothing like in the picture. It's a foothill kind of cemetery with graves dating back to the early eighteen hundreds. He's not even buried in the part of the cemetery that is automatically taken care of--no water here to keep anything alive in the sometimes brutal summer. As I've said many times, it is not a graveyard I could ever see Barack Obama or Hillary Clinton visiting. It is not their kind of place. September 11th is also the day before my daughter's birthday. A once joyful occasion that is now marked by the shadow of planes crashing and buildings collapsing. Even people jumping out of windows. I cannot imagine the horror they must have felt. As usual, I cry when I think about it. I think about radical Islamists and wonder why they don't prize life, but instead feel it is an honor to die for Allah and an honor to take others with them. Somehow, I doubt Allah is proud when they reach the other side. That's all I have to say today. Tomorrow I'll wish my daughter a happy birthday. Then there will be silence as we both think about what happened the day before. Keep your loved ones close. (((hugs))) Louann Comments are closed.
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