A Day That Will Live In Infamy

Rusty commented today that I hadn't been blogging lately.  My response to him was that I really haven't had anything to write about.  He suggested (after some "smart" comment about me not staying awake long enough to do so) that I write down my reflections about September 11, 2001.  I remember the day like it was yesterday.  I can't believe that it has been eight years since that terrible tragedy took place.  I know that I will never forget where I was when I heard the news.  It is ingrained in my memory just like what I was doing when Reagan was shot, Challenger exploded, and Columbia disappeared.  September 11th is our generation's Pearl Harbor or Kennedy assassination.  This is how my Tuesday unfolded eight years ago...

I was sitting at my computer in my office at Mae Smythe Elementary finishing up some paperwork before I was to begin my first therapy session of the day.  One of our teachers' aides passed by my office with a surprised look on her face.  She told me that a plane had just flown into one of the World Trade Center towers.  At that time, they were not talking about a terrorist attack.  They believed it to be a grave mistake on the part of the pilot or significant mechanical malfunction.  I shook my head in disbelief, said a brief prayer for the victims, their families, and those employees working in the tower, and commenced with therapy for the day.  Two sessions into my therapy regimen, Melanie showed up at my door again this time with fear and uncertainty in her eyes.  She told me that another plane had flown into the other tower.  The incidents no longer appeared to be accidents but deliberate terrorist attacks.  We huddled around a small TV in my assistant principal's office, shaking our heads in disbelief with tears streaming down our faces.  Who could be responsible for such a despicable act?  Who held life in so little regard that they would sacrifice innocent human life to support their own agenda? 

We watched in horror as people, so stricken with fear and desperation decided that it would be better to plunge to their deaths than to be burned alive in the buildings.  It is an image that I wish I could erase from my mind but one that was played over and over on TV screens for days to come.  I became desperate to connect with my own family, to know that they were okay.  Austin was almost five months old at the time and spent most of his Tuesdays with his Aunt Kiki.  I called her first because Rusty was asleep.  We chatted in disbelief for a few minutes and she reassured me that they were fine.  A few more telephone calls were made after that.  I was chomping at the bit to call Rusty but knew that he needed sleep.  Finally around 10:30, I could wait no longer.  I told him that he needed to turn on the TV, that he was not going to believe what was happening.  He had already spoken to Courtney moments earlier so I did not catch him completely by surprise.  He told me that Court was planning to bring Austin to the house so that they could spend the rest of the day there.  I think that everyone needed the company of those they love to make it through that terrible day.

I returned to my AP's office right about the time that the first tower fell.  We all let out a brief shout because I don't think that any of us ever anticipated that the entire tower would collapse.  I don't know if I have ever felt more helpless.  I knew in my heart that thousands of people had just lost their lives and my heart broke for them and their families.  As the wife of a police officer, I also lamented the deaths of all of the "heroes" (NYPD, FDNY, and Port Authority officers) that had rushed to the sight to rescue those trapped in the buildings only to have their lives cut short in the line of duty.  At that point, the phones in the office started ringing off of the hook.  Paranoia was setting in and parents were desperate to have their children in their care (which I did not blame them for wanting one bit).  Therapy was done for the day.  We went into crisis mode.  Within a matter of minutes, our parking lot was flooded with cars and we had a line of parents down the sidewalk to the main entrance of our building.  I spent the remainder of the day answering phones, checking parents' IDs, and retrieving children from their classrooms.  Somewhere in the process we learned that the second tower had collapsed, the Pentagon had been hit, and a fourth plane had gone down in a field in Pennsylvania missing its intended target.  Rumors started flying about bombs being placed outside of all of the public schools in Manhatten and that the Houston Ship Channel was an intended target.  At times it all seemed too surreal to process.  By the end of the day, we barely had any children to dismiss at 3:00.  We joked (it was the only thing that we could find to laugh about) that there was surely prayer in school that day because every time the phone rang in a classroom, the students were all praying that it was their turn to get to go home.

I quickly made my way home to spend the evening surrounded by my two best friends and my precious baby boy.  We were glued to the TV set as the media replayed repeatedly the events from that horrific day.  I remember crying as I watched my adorable son bouncing happily in his jumper, thinking about all of the children whose parents would not be returning home that evening.  In an instant my tears of sorrow would transform into tears of rage as I wondered who gave these men the right to shatter the lives of so many.  At that moment I knew that I would never be able to forgive them for what they did and I marveled at God's ability to forgive.  His grace truly surpasses my understanding.

Wearily we made it through the evening.  Rusty and I crawled into bed, thankful for a reprieve from the gruesome images which played over and over in our minds.  Just as we were about to turn off the light, the phone rang.  Now everyone knows that nothing good ever comes from getting a phone call at such a late hour.  It was Rusty's dad informing us that our sister-in-law, Cindy's brother, Max was on board the plane which crashed into the second World Trade Center tower.  This information was almost more than I could bear.  Now it was personal.  A name and a face could be associated with this tragedy.  As we turned out the lights, I looked at Rusty and said, "I'm almost afraid to close my eyes because I'm frightened of what tomorrow will bring."

Tomorrow brought with it more pain and sorrow but it also ushered in a new sense of strength and pride that this country had been lacking for quite some time.  Individual differences no longer mattered.  We were one nation standing tall against the "monster" of terrorism.  Our spirit was not going to be shattered as they had hoped.  Instead, we banned together as a nation, supported relief and rescue efforts, and spat in the faces of our attackers.  We were all AMERICANS and that meant more to us than it had in a very long time.

We have made two trips to New York City since 09/11/01 and have visited Ground Zero both times.  As "family members" of someone who died in the attacks that day, we have access to areas which the general public cannot visit.  These areas have been set up as memorials to those who lost their lives that day.  Family members place photos, letters, and mementos to remember their fallen loved ones.  It was almost more than I could bear to walk around those rooms reading the heartfelt words of those who had experienced such tragedy.  I cried the entire time that I was there on both occasions.  I have told Rusty that I will not go back again until the actual memorial for 9/11 in complete.  I am too sensitive to other's pain and grief.  I am not capable to checking my emotions at the door.  The whole experience is too painful.  I am grateful that I was able to see it all but I will not put myself through that again.

This day last year was overshadowed by our frantic preparations for Hurricane Ike (perhaps I will blog about that experience tomorrow :).  Although this reflection has been difficult to recount, I am grateful for my husband's suggestion.  I pray that this day never passes and I don't remember the events of that Tuesday morning.  I am so proud that the greatest tragedy that our nation has ever experienced in my lifetime also became our grandest triumph!  God Bless America!