It takes strength. It takes willpower. It takes some fantastical belief that whatever that next big step you took will keep you  on the path towards fulfillment (whatever that even means). It’s a naivety that not everyone has, seemingly losing it along the way through some combination of fear and being content.

Transition is actually quite simple. All it requires is one person who want’s\need’s something to shift in their life. It could be as basic as salary or vicinity to family.  Or it could be as complex as needing to run away, to find the person you dreamed of finding, to reinvent yourself, or even to lose yourself entirely. We all do it for our own personal reasons. It can be selfish, cowardly, courageous, and self-less. Each transition offers a valuable insight into a persons mind. It might take time to unpack it all but once you find it? It is the key to who they are and who they dream of becoming.

There is a price to be paid. Leaving people behind and losing touch. Stumbling through a brand new system of social and political norms in and outside the workplace. Screwing up for the first time and not being close enough with your supervisor to know how bad it really might be. Chasing dreams has a cost. Granted the cost of a new job in a new city is insignificant in the grand scheme of life but you understand my point. Strap in, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.  It’s not meant to cause a U-turn, it’s meant to toughen you up. It’s how you learn the new surroundings and how you ultimately thrive within them. Have you ever tried starting over from scratch? Reconfiguring your life to a world unknown only a few months earlier. I remember my first gut-wrenching move. During one of my odd, lonely ramblings I told my closest friend that I was going to marry the next person I dated. Obviously that was an outlandish statement (although if it happened it may have been the greatest “I told you so” of my short life). I said it not because I meant it, I said it because I was scared and needed someone. I needed someone who could walk me through what I’d just done because I hadn’t yet understood it myself.

So when does the “transition period” end? It doesn’t. Life is a continuously evolving transition, you may have just amped it up for a period of time. The best answer is this: transition has slowed once you rely on people in your current town more then you do those friends afar. Once you’ve shifted your support structure then you can say you’ve downshifted the transition. It may feel like one long waiting period. As if just on the other side of the door is the life you were looking for but your number just hasn’t been called yet.  Kicking that door down Van Damme style probably won’t help.  It takes patience. There is no fast lane.

I will say it again: strap in, it’s going to be a bumpy ride. But damn is the view beautiful over the horizon.

[Note: This is the last post in this Life in Transition series. It has been a pleasure - and honestly therapeutic - to write these posts. I hope they've been comforting and helpful, that has always been the goal.]

 Photo courtesy crookrw

Things turn contemplative fast when life is about to completely change.  You start thinking about the nights spent laughing and crying with friends, the adventures you took and those you never got off the couch for, and what unforgettable memories await. You start packing up quirky things which sat on your desk for the last few years and acted as reminders for times long past. Each walk to your office becomes a mental countdown – “This is my ___ time making this walk.”  It’s scary and exciting in the most nauseating way.

Friends you rarely spent time with all-of-a-sudden want to have lunch with you.  You reach out to peers in similar situations that were never sounding-boards before.  Family members come out of the woodwork with congratulations and the random “When are you getting your PhD?” (Don’t worry Grandpa, I will get that doctorate.) It becomes a compounding issue because you’re forced to talk about the next steps when you haven’t completely let go of the last. You can take your life in any direction you choose. It’s exhilarating, scary, mind-blowing, and sometimes even paralyzing.

Goodbyes are outliers that suddenly become the norm. I HATE goodbyes. And don’t give me the line “It’s not goodbye, It’s see you later.” It’s a goodbye, If I see you again it is a pleasant surprise. Life throws too many curve balls to believe you will see everyone you’ve ever said goodbye to once more. You have no choice but to become comfortable with goodbyes during transition.

Major transition is scary because it’s hard to understand.  The variables are too great to wrap your head around. Being content is easier because it allows you to hide flawed moments behind the normal ones.  Transition pushes you to unearth all the grimy details in preparation for the next chapter. That’s called reflection. Reflection is where learning happens – not change, transition, or struggle. Reflections leads to insights. Reflection leads to growth. Reflection leads to a better you. This type of deep reflection means coming face-to-face with your foundation-shaking failures and your ego-boosting successes.

I’m not scared anymore about my upcoming transition. I was. I was scared out of my mind. Luckily I’ve been through a few of these before and I know that fear is not only natural but necessary. I also know that this moment in time is the calm before the storm. I am standing in the eye of a hurricane waiting for the next battering when I will question all of my decisions once more.

To all of those who’ve recently gone\are going\just went through transition I want to share this: Stay strong, stay grounded, talk often with those you love, and the path that lay ahead only brings new and wonderful adventures.

There was an incident on our campus several weeks ago that could have ended very badly, but it turned out to be a misunderstanding about an umbrella. It was early Friday morning and an alert went out that someone had been spotted on campus with a rifle. The suspect was located near the residence halls, but everyone on campus was supposed to find shelter.

I happened to be in a room with several other staff members along with a few students and many different rumors were zipping around. While we were locked down a fellow staff member said something along the lines of “I can’t imagine being on the wrong end of a gun or being shot”. I wanted to reply “you may not be able to imagine it, but can you separate yourself from that image enough to relate to someone who has been on both sides of a deadly weapon?” Her comment made me think about our lack of awareness and I can only hope it made a few others think, too. How many students in that office know someone who’s been involved in the war? How many of the staff members there have family overseas with our military? Or, it could be worse, how many people in that room have lost someone due to war? I was lucky, my husband could have been on the ground in the war zone, or he could have been forced to stay in when his contract expired, but for someone else, that comment could have brought up a lot of sad memories.

Although I think every campus should have an office to support veterans, military personnel, ROTC students, and those on campus with military connection, a veteran-friendly campus can start with awareness. Students with military connections, whatever it is, may not want to be recognized, or may want to be recognized, but we should be aware of their presence. Attitudes toward the war(s), current administration, or military as a whole can be communicated in many ways, and we should be aware of how those attitudes can affect our students. Comments, even during times of high stress, can show our ignorance or lack of compassion toward students who have faced some very scary times.

I know I could have had that conversation with my fellow staff member, but it also came back to her identity development and willingness to accept new idea and concepts. I also don’t think it would have been an appropriate time to really discuss awareness of language. But I do think it’s good to keep in mind the multiple identities of our students, which can include some type of military history, background, or connection.

Chelsea O’Brien is a Senior Staff Assistant at Rochester Institute of Technology.

“I’d like to know: what do you do to show that you’re a leader on campus?”

The student’s inquiry stopped me for a second. After all, I had just asked her that exact question no more than ten minutes ago during an RA recruitment interview. We had come to the portion of the interview where the students could ask questions of me, the professional. And I didn’t quite know what to say. Though it pains me to admit it, my first thought was “I just am a leader on campus, because of my role in the residence halls.”

When you’re a professional on a college campus how do you show that you’re a leader? While our titles can give us the privilege of leading, guiding and advising students, it is up to us as professionals to determine how we’re going to lead those who look to us. I was unsure of how to answer the question because I hadn’t intentionally thought about my leadership role on campus in a long time—on a regular basis I give more energy to the day-to-day routines and to-do lists than the big picture, which I think happens to a lot of us in the field. When I began to ponder this subject, more questions began to surface. Do my actions reflect my values, goals, and abilities? What can I do to better lead my students? How am I proving that I deserve to be seen as a leader in my community?

The truth of the matter is I’m still contemplating the answers to these questions. Intentional reflection is necessary to grow—I expect it from my students, so why wouldn’t I do the same myself? As a professional, I must remember that it is my responsibility to not only connect with my students, but also to know who I am so that I can empower them to authentically grow and make meaning of their collegiate experiences. The student’s question was a good reminder to take time out to reflect and refocus on bigger picture items like leadership—something that everyone in our field should do every now and again.

Since reflections are big where I am a practicum student, and now with me, I have been thinking about posting one since the prompt came up on Twitter a few days ago.  I was 14 on 9.11.2001 and I had just moved away from home to attend an ski academy in Maine. I watched the second tower get hit on tv with the headmaster and my teammates after a morning workout, and I was shocked. It was not until noon or even later that my mom was able to get a call into the school, and told me she had been trying for hours to reach me, and her brother — the phone lines were too tied up to get a call through from Boston. At that point I was terrified, and even though had picked fights with my parents to try to make the separation easier, was as homesick as I could imagine.

I tried not to think about this whole scene all that often. Each year it comes back into my mind, and I think for a while and push it away- move on with my life, embracing the day. I remember life is short. Things were not always perfect, I still had fights with my parents, I moved back home my junior year of high school, and graduated in June 2005. That September I moved away to college and had a difficult time transitioning. The fear of not being able to reach my parents was real, and suddenly things came back to me again. Years continued to go by, I developed friendships with cadets at the United States Military Academy at West Point. I reflected upon how I never thought as a child that I would grow up knowing what it would be like for America to be attacked, for there to be a recession and a war. These were all things I had read about and was now living. I’ve decided to try to take in every moment. At 14 I did not realize how short life could be.

As I sit here, 10 years later, a graduate student in my last year of my HESA program, I think. In fact, I haven’t stopped thinking since September 1st about this day and how I would feel. I realize that it is important to go out each day with a smile, tell my family I love them, and really make sure the work I do each day within the field is good work. I wasn’t on a college campus 10 years ago, but I was at a boarding school, and know what it feels like to be away from home during such an event. Since then I have not questioned being an American, (which I did when I was younger due to being an Irish National as well) and pay more attention to what is going on in the world. I don’t think I have necessarily thought about how I have changed until I read this blog post. I accepted the challenge, and as I drove back to my apartment from my parent’s house, I had the following thoughts:

1. Community is important- communities come together in the good times, and the bad, and as I work in student affairs, with the desire to go into residence life after graduation, building a good community is something I need to do.

2. Tragic events are processed by everyone differently, being able to recognize that is crucial. I have made sure to keep an open mind to how people react to the news and the ongoing fear that there will be another attack.

3. I am thankful each day for my friends and the countless men and women who are currently serving and deployed.

4. It is important not to generalize. The actions of a few people do not mean that everyone who looks like those people, or who comes from the same area is the same. Expanding my multicultural competencies is an ongoing goal of mine.

5. September 11, 2001 was a terrible day- so was December 7, 1941- we need to not forget our America’s history even though we were not necessarily alive for it.

I never thought I would be a graduate student when I was 14. I hadn’t even thought about college yet, and as I sit here recounting that day, and where I have come I have remember life is a journey. This day 10 years ago was clearly a big bump in everyone’s journey, and changed everything as I knew them. I feel fortunate that I have had the chance to reflect on this, and had the courage to post my feelings and thoughts. To me, reflection encourages growth and development, and even though I have grown a lot since I was 14, there is still more to go. With that, I say, carpe diem- seize the day, life is unknown, and uncertain, but we should try to make the best of everyday.

Beth Solomon is a second-year graduate student at Salem State University.

Relationships are built on the number of emotionally charged shared experiences between individuals. 9/11 was a huge emotionally charged shared experience for America. The experience started on 9/11/01 and lasted for weeks and months afterwards. It seemed like all of America opted to put down their differences and pause to love their neighbor. It was unreal and amazing, but I missed it all.

I was studying at the Goethe Institute in Berlin, Germany during the Fall of 2001. Berlin is six hours ahead of New York City. When the first plane hit the North Tower at 8:45 a.m. EST, it was 2:45 p.m. in Berlin. I just got home from school and sat down to watch the BBC. I didn’t have a computer then, so the BBC was my only source of information. A few moments later, my parents in Chicago called. We cried on the phone together. Then I hung up and I sat alone in my apartment. My girlfriend, now my wife, called and we talked. We cried. Then I hung up and watched the BBC for the next 12 hours. I didn’t sleep because I couldn’t sleep. My parents called a few more times and we talked and cried. Then I was alone again. I wanted to so desperately talk to someone, a fellow American face-to-face. But I sat in my apartment and watched BBC. Too shocked to move.

The next day I went to class and everyone’s face was ingrained with hours of crying from the night before. We broke our “German Only” rule to vent with one another even though most of the class weren’t native English speakers. It helped. It made me feel like I was home. We cried some more. It was sad. The next day, one of the other Americans in the class decided to end her trip early and fly back home to Texas to be with her family. I stayed.

The next couple weeks I read, heard, and watched more and more stories of massive vigils and gatherings happening around the U.S. It was as if America was one big family and though we had our differences, it didn’t matter. Every house flew an American flag. The pictures were amazing. The videos were amazing. The stories were amazing. I spent hours at the internet cafe absorbing as much as I could.

I stayed in Berlin through the New Year for my class. By the time I flew back to Chicago, the emotionally charged shared experience of 9/11 was mostly faded. People were getting back to their routine. There were no more group vigils and the number of flying American flags went down.

My wife does her best to try and explain what it was like the days, weeks and months after 9/11, but explaining it is secondary to actually being there. It’s as if I went to the bathroom during the critical part of a movie and have to keep asking people what happened. But unlike a movie, I can’t rewind 9/11. I forever have to experience it through the lens of other people.

I have my story, but it’s not the same emotionally charged shared story as the rest of the country, so I still cling to every new story I hear as if somehow it’ll help me piece together what it was really like to be here, in America, with fellow Americans.

Now that the dust has settled, a college senior is still waking up this morning with a wish that her parents could come to her graduation. A ten year old boy is trying to understand why he never got the opportunity to know his father. There is a mom out there who still has a lasting memory of her daughter trying to frantically get out of her building and all of a sudden…. phone is dead. Both a husband and a wife have a lasting memory of sending their loved ones to work not knowing it would be the last time they would see them. There are a thousand stories. None of them have a happy ending.

Now that the dust has settled there are a number of people who will come to terms with feelings they have been holding onto for almost ten years. Where does the blame go? Where does the anger go? Now that the target for their painful memories no longer exists how do they move forward? As they sit and watch people celebrate and sometimes trivialize the situation by throwing parties and running up and down the street hollering USA! USA! USA!; Where is their comfort? Where is their victory?

Now that the dust has settled you still have to face the day. You still have to face the lost memories and the missed chances. Children still sit helplessly as they watch one or both of their parents lace up their boots and leave for war. The pain that was caused on 9/11 still exists in a perpetual cycle. One man, though he was the face of the organization, does not slow this process or bring us closer to peace. One man, though his death provides some level of comfort, does not fill the void that still remains. One man, whose leadership was used to inspire great evil, stole from you the very thing that many hold dear; The future. The steady hopes and dreams of many left that day to never return.

Now that the dust has settled, where do we go now? The hangover of the emotions will slowly settle in and the decision to move forward will be at our doorstep. The baggage that we have carried will have to be laid down. Our collective will have to begin to focus on healing. How do we raise the towers again both literally and figuratively? A nation that has lived in fear for the the last ten years must now rise from its diminished state. It must stand proud again. I heard a beautiful story last night. A man was on a flight. As the news broke that Osama Bin Laden had been killed there was a loud cheer. Everyone began to celebrate. As people left their own bubble of joy, alone sat a woman who was in tears. She was turned into a widow 10 years ago. The entire flight stopped their celebration to tend to this woman, to comfort her, to let her know that it was ok, to let her know that while we do not completely understand your pain this moment; We are here for you.

Now that the dust has settled, the I must become the We. For all of you deeply impacted by the events of ten years ago, I am here for you. I stand in reverence of your loss and I pray that last night represented a step towards your healing. For those of you who serve, are the parents of someone who serves, or are the children of a soldier; I stand on awe of your sacrifice, commitment, and duty.

God Bless

- Faith is like any other tool, If you do not use it you lose it.

Nate Johnson is the Assistant Director for Residential Life at the University of Miami. 

Ten years ago, I was just a kid. I’m part of unique group of students who were in their first year of college on September 11. Just two weeks into college, I was still getting to know my roommate, trying to figure out classes, and falling in love with my new home at Wittenberg University in Springfield, Ohio.

On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, as planes were hijacked, I was fast asleep. My only class of the day was at 2pm so I planned to sleep until my roommate returned from her class around 11:30 and then we were going to lunch. That morning, I awoke a few minutes before 10am. I leaned over, grabbed my remote and turned on The Today Show. The first image I saw was the towers on fire. I was half awake and confused. Why was The World Trade Center on fire?  Matt Lauer sounded really concerned, so I concluded it had to be for real. I’d had the TV on for maybe only a couple minutes when the first tower collapsed.

As I said, it was 2 weeks into school. So what was my reaction? I knocked on my RAs door. Actually, I banged on her door. I told her she should turn on the TV, that something was going on in New York. Then I walked down the hall, looking for anyone I could sit with and watch this. I was scared and I didn’t want to be alone. I found Susan Buckenmeyer (now a Student Org Policy Advisor at UT-Austin), eyes glued to the tv and we watched the second tower fall.

Our next thought, check our email from something from Wittenberg. The campus wide email explained that classes would be canceled and there would be a gathering in the chapel to pray and discuss what was going on.

The Wittenberg Chapel holds somewhere close to 2,000 people and it was full to capacity with students and staff. A few staff members and the university pastors discussed what happened for the people who’d been in class all morning and then we prayed for those stuck, for those who had died and for those trying to keep more people from dying. The rest of the day to me is a bit of a blur. There were talks that Wright Patterson Air Force Base might be attacked. There were talks that we would be at war the next week somewhere in the Middle East. But mostly, we just sat, talked, and wondered how it all had happened.

That evening is my clearest image of the day. A group of floormates and I went to grab dinner. About half way to the dining hall, we heard a plane. We all stopped mid step as did other folks in the street and looked up for what plane got clearance to fly that day. First we saw one F-16 fighter jet, then 2 more, then Air Force One, then 3 more fighter jet flying east. It ironically made me feel safer, like some important people were flying back to Washington to try and keep us safe.

Six months later, I was on my first Choir Tour which took us to Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Jersey, and New York. We arrived in New York City on the 6 month anniversary of 9/11. Our choir director, Dr. Busarow was dead set on us singing something in St. Patrick’s Cathedral even though we hadn’t called ahead to get approval to sing there.  Dr. B asked someone working in the Cathedral if we could sing and that person got a manager who promptly told us no.  Dr B, being the strong-willed man he is, had us line up anyway in the back of the Cathedral.  We began singing the most beautiful hymn styled version of the Star Spangled Banner that can still bring tears to my eyes to this day. People stopped their touring to listen to us sing as our 50 voices echoed of the walls of one of the most iconic churches in the country.  That evening, we were across the river in New Jersey hearing from teachers about the school children they stood in the street with watching the scene across the river. I can still see some of those faces in the crowd that night who cried as we sang the Star Spangled Banner. And the next day our bus driver dropped us along the back side of the World Trade Center, where the workers were entering to continue clearing out the rubble. I walked with a small group of friends along the memorials set up with pictures of loved ones and police and fire department patches sent from across the United States.

About a year later, on Wednesday March 19, 2003, I was again traveling with the Wittenberg Choir for our performance in the Columbus, Ohio area.  After the show, we boarded the bus to find our driver fixed on the radio.  As we drove home, we heard President Bush explaining the war in Iraq was already started. Dr B was silent and sat in the front of the bus just shaking his head.  I never asked, but I imagine he was thinking about the wars he’d seen in his life, knowing what we were getting ourselves into as a country.

Overall, when I look back at my memories of those days, they are all connected to my time at Wittenberg.  I also realize how much it shaped me. In some respects, i think it was part of why I decided to go into Student Affairs; it rose out of my desire to help students thorough the difficult events that occur while they are in college. And as I think about my students some of whom were as young as 7 on 9/11, I wonder how much they remember from those days. Most of their teachers wouldn’t have shown the coverage at school and I’m sure their parents shielded them slightly from the night and day coverage on TV. In the future, I hope we will start to add 9/11 to history classes to students can learn more about it than just headlines or Wikipedia articles. I hope we keep telling our stories of that day no matter how far we were from New York City on that day. Most of all, I hope we never forget.

Amber Sibley is the Assistant Director for Programming at the University of Dayton. 

On September 11, 2001, I was only 6 weeks into a new job at Merrimack College, a small Catholic, Augustinian school up in North Andover, Massachusetts. I remember how perfect the day started… how crystal clear the sky was. Blue as blue can be. Not a single cloud in the sky. It was probably a little after 9 a.m. when I got to the campus center. I was just behind a couple of my colleagues and simply said “Good morning,” to which they replied, “What’s so good about it?” I still didn’t really know people yet, so I wasn’t sure if they were being sarcastic or just having a bad day, so I inquired further. “The World Trade Center was hit by a plane!” they replied. I blurted out, “My dad works there!” and began running for the first TV that I could find. I got to the main floor and there were dozens of people watching TVs in the food court. Strangely, I had just walked by a couple of minutes earlier and hadn’t noticed what was going on. Now I’m sitting there with everyone else in complete disbelief.

I remember trying to call anyone I could… but all I got was busy signals. The only person I spoke to that morning was my sister in California, but other than e-mail I remember using ICQ, which was like instant messenger, to communicate with others.

My dad worked for Washington Group International, an engineering company in the south tower, on the 91st floor – the second tower to be hit but the first to fall. On two counts, my dad wasn’t supposed to be there. For one, his area was relocated to Princeton, NJ, but he didn’t want the lengthy commute from our home on Long Island, nor did my parents want to move. Great Neck had been our home since I was 6. Secondly and most ironically, he was supposed to be in the Middle East, of all places, on business but his trip was cancelled.

When the south tower fell at 9:59 a.m. I remember being overwhelmed with grief. I don’t know where I intended to go, but I just ran. Before I could get too far, someone grabbed me and brought me to the chapel. Although it took me a while to realize it, that was the first act of kindness someone did for me that day. They saw I was in distress and they grabbed me.

The 2nd act of kindness took place later that evening. I decided to drive to a friends’ place in CT as I wasn’t sure I could drive all the way to Long Island. I remember being asked if I wanted company, but told my colleagues that I’d be okay. As I’m packing up my things, I get a knock on the door from 3 students from a fraternity that I advised, insisting on coming along with me. “Fred, we’re not taking no for an answer. We’re going with you.” The semester had just started and these students who had just met me offered to make sure I got there safely.

The next morning, I continued to Long Island. I intentionally drove over the Whitestone Bridge so I could get the closest view of the skyline. I remember how empty the roads were that morning. Not just on the highways coming down, but approaching and crossing the bridge, there was NO ONE on the road. I felt like I was in a movie. Something like “Mad Max” or “I Am Legend.”

When I finally got home to see my mom, I tried to reassure her but she was already convinced my dad was gone. My two younger brothers, who were living at home at the time, were there. My sister, because flights were grounded, was driving across country with my uncle in a rental car; it would take her another 3 or 4 days before she arrived.

Like many other families, we made up a flyer and organized a search. Maybe he was buried under some debris? Maybe he simply couldn’t get in touch with us? Maybe he was injured and walking the city aimlessly? We just put our faith in God and hoped and believed he was out there somewhere. My brother’s friends were at the house and without hesitation took it upon themselves to blanket the city with flyers, posting them in hospitals, police stations, and just about anywhere and everywhere they could. I didn’t always like my brother’s friends, but I remember how differently I felt about them at that moment. This was the 3rd act of kindness.

With every passing hour, day, and week, we came to the realization that my dad was really gone. I’m not sure how or when we made the decision, but about 3 weeks after 9/11, we held a memorial service for him. I remember how much life there was in the Church on that rainy day. Our Church and it’s congregation was very old, so there were never more than 2 or 3 dozen people there on Sundays, but on that day the Church was packed; the pews were filled and there were even people standing in the balcony. There was even a group from Merrimack, who only knew me for a few weeks. It was an amazing sight to see so much life in our Church and all of the people my dad had affected. Yet another act of kindness.

They never found my dad or anything that belonged to him, except for part of an old, charred, employee badge. So there was no casket at the service, just a large photo of him on an easel. We have a cemetery plot in town, but nothing physical there other than a headstone. I have since gone there to speak with him, but I feel closest to him when I’m at Church or when I’m at Ground Zero.
I made it through most of the academic year, but by April my emotions finally caught up with me and I came to the realization that I wanted to go home. Once again, the Merrimack community was there to support me and let me go until I was ready to come back – no expectations, no questions asked. Once again, another act of kindness.

After a few weeks at home, I decided I needed to be closer to my family, which is how I ended up here at Fairfield. Geographically, it made sense, but there was something else going on. The strong sense of care and community – those many acts of kindness on 9/11 and the months thereafter – I was beginning to experience what the Jesuit principle of men and women for others was all about. It wasn’t just at Fairfield or at Merrimack where this shift was taking place – it really was everywhere. Yes, there was a heightened sense of patriotism after 9/11, but there was also this heightened feeling that we were all in this together. No matter who you were or where you came from, there was a common sense of decency between others – and not just because you had a connection to 9/11. It would be at the grocery store, the mall, or just walking down the street. People just seemed nicer to one another. Looking back on 10 years, that’s the feeling that I fear we’re losing … that feeling that we’re all Men and Women for Others.

What I Miss…

I’m sure this may sound odd, but it many ways, I consider myself lucky or even blessed. As I said earlier, not a day goes by that I don’t miss my dad, but I had 29 years with him. I still think about all the young kids who lost their mom or dad on 9/11 and how they never got the chance to experience all the things that I was able to share with him during that time. He got to experience little league, boy scouts, piano lessons, summer vacations to Florida & Canada, and not to mention all the C’s on my transcripts. He got to see his four kids graduate from college and find jobs. He got to see us get to the point in our lives that he knew we’d be okay. However, it just felt as though we were just getting to the really good stuff because my siblings and I were now all adults and had lives of our own.

So much has happened over the past 10 years, I just wish he could have been a part of it. I know he and my wife Cristina would have gotten along so well together. I’m sure he would have also really enjoyed her family because they are so much like my family before 9/11. I imagine him and Cristina’s dad in particular really getting along – two hard-working, self-taught, handymen. I would never have to lift a finger for any home improvement jobs in our house!

But it wasn’t until I became a parent myself that I began missing him the most. Often times, I look at my son and think about what a wonderful grandfather he would have been to him. He was a great dad, but I know he would have been an even better “Lolo” to my son Lucas and his cousins.

Years ago, I told myself if I ever had I son, I would never name him Fred. Too much pressure. Growing up, I always felt as though I had to live up to my dad and my grandfather because we shared a name. I didn’t want that for my son. But after my dad died and then a few years later, my grandfather, it felt strange being the only Fred Kuo. I was used to there being three of us and it felt odd being the only one. So Lucas is actually my son’s middle name; his first name is Frederick.

What I Will Never Forget…

I can’t believe that this Sunday will mean that my dad has been gone for 10 years. I’m 39 and it makes no sense to me that my dad has been a gone for nearly a quarter of my life. At times, it feels like he was just here, and other times I worry that I’m beginning to forget him. So although I know doing things such writing this reflection can make me emotional, I do it because it helps me remember. I do it because I don’t want to forget.

I also do it because of our students. Working in a college setting, I often forget that I’m getting older because our students never age. They’re perpetually 18-22 years old. 10 years ago, our freshman class was 8. How do you talk about 9/11 through the eyes of an 8 year old?

By the 15th anniversary, our students will have no recollection of the actual day. They will only know what they see on TV, in books, on the internet, or what they hear from others. With every anniversary, how we engage our students about 9/11 becomes that much more important.

For me the 10th anniversary isn’t just about remembering my dad, or the 3,000+ people who died on that day. It also serves as a reminder about the responsibilities that we have to those around us today… that we should all remember to be men and women for others every single day.

So when I think back on September 11, 2001…

I’ll never forget the person who grabbed me and brought me to the chapel.

I’ll never forget my 3 students who wouldn’t take no for an answer and drove me to Connecticut.

I’ll never forget how the Merrimack College community supported me, even though they barely knew me.

I’ll never forget my brothers’ friends blanketing the city with flyers.

I’ll never forget the overwhelming energy in our Church during my dad’s memorial.

I’ll never forget how I came to Fairfield and how this community continues to support me.

I’ll never forget how ‘different’ things felt between people in the wake of 9/11.

I’ll never forget…

Fred Kuo is the Associate Director of University Activities at Fairfield University. 

We were asked to be “around and helpful” to students that day.  So, as Chris Conzen wrote, it was time to get to work. The resident directors were in the residence halls and my student involvement colleagues and student affairs staff were in the cafeterias and in the campus center.  We were there, present, talking and connecting with some students we knew and others we didn’t.  Nobody told us what to do specifically or how long to do it for, but it just happened.  I remember looking at the clock and seeing that it was time to leave work for the day.  Do you leave? Stay? Shouldn’t there be some direction?  We were doing what comes naturally to student affairs professionals.  No theory, vector, or CAS standard had to be consulted to know what to do that day.

That day was so profound, but the time on campus afterward was just as profound for me.  My office had our Student Involvement Fair scheduled for 9/12.  Should I keep the event?  Cancel it?  We ended up keeping the event because we knew the community needed to gather that day. It was, as expected, nothing remotely focused on involvement in student organizations.  It ended up, however, being squarely illustrative of the power that student groups affiliations have to unify, comfort and empower a community.

Much of my time in the two weeks following 9-11 was spent working with groups to organize fundraisers and awareness campaigns.  I vividly remember a meeting with student leaders from a range of organizations who “just wanted to do something.”  I knew our university was going to do something, but it wasn’t evolving fast enough for motivated students who wanted to help. It was also the beginning of the semester and filled with the usual opening craziness.

We spent a serious amount of time working on a number of projects from that point on and it was a great lesson to me in not just the value of the products of our work but the process as well. Helping students to harness their grief and disbelief over the events toward some productive and helpful end still remains one of the most rewarding memories of my career. Those ribbon campaigns were a grieving process for the community and I wouldn’t have changed a minute of how I spent my time.  It helped them and it helped me.

My most powerful memories related to 9-11-01 will always be of what an empowering and supportive environment a college campus can be when a community needs to pull together.

College campuses are really, truly, special places,

Later on, I would discover that a grade school friend had perished when one of the towers fell.  Allison, if there are blogs in the great beyond, you will never be forgotten.

Cindy Kane is the Director of Student Involvement and Leadership at Bridgewater State University.