9/11

Although everyone seems to be writing the same thing, I feel the tenth anniversary of 9/11 is a good time to record where we were, what we were doing that day. I started writing it in my journal 9/11/01, but never finished. It was too awful. Every year, I have tried to remember how I felt that day. Some years I watched the living history broadcast, where they replay the morning news broadcast with Katie Couric and Matt Lauer that I was watching that day. Near the first anniversary, we visited the Smithsonian American History Museum. The traveling 9/11 exhibit was packed with people, yet silent. People crossed the threshold into the exhibit and spoke with hushed tones as they viewed mutilated briefcases, shards of metal, Bush's bullhorn, and listened to recordings of doomed Americans who left messages on answering machines for their loved ones. Each anniversary has not passed without tears, without remembering, without mourning.

I was sleeping. Travis was out of town on a business trip. We had moved to Manassas four months before, my application for work as a substitute teacher was still in the works, so I slept in that day. I woke to a phonecall from my Mom. She was in Utah and was watching the news: "They are flying planes at sky scrapers in New York!" I was groggy, I didn't get it. They second tower had just been hit. I woke up a bit, and began to understand what she was saying. I ran to the tv and we watched coverage as they showed tape of the second plane making impact. I remember and desperation for information. As the towers smoked, billowed, and burned, they seemed so far away and silent. I knew that it must be chaotic, I wanted to know more. We spoke for a few more minutes and I changed stations over and over, trying to find out more. Mom hung up and I watched as a newscaster spoke with someone in the Pentagon. As they were talking, the person at the Pentagon said "wait a minute, there was just a huge explosion here, it rocked my office". I grabbed the phone and called Mom: "They've hit the Pentagon! They hit the Pentagon!" The Pentagon was an hour's drive for me.
People were jumping from the buildings. Their choice was to be burned to death or to jump. There was no escape for them. Either way, Bin Laden killed them. I wondered how anyone would be rescued, how long until the fire burned itself out, how the firefighters would get to the upper floors, if helicopters could land on the roof. And then the towers fell. Thousands of people. Ghosts wandering the street, covered in dust, the awful sound of fireman's sirens and beacons that never stopped. A gaping hole at the Pentagon, a desperate need to know more. Another plane downed in Pennsylvania, the worry of more attacks. All the stations on tv turned to news coverage. Life for me stopped. I didn't know where Travis was. When we finally connected, he let me know his business trip in Rhode Island had been cancelled. They were coming home. But the planes were grounded (he was set to fly home to Reagan that day, it would be closed for months), he and his coworkers rented a car and drove. He didn't tell me he was on a naval base that was locked down due to the threat of attack. I spent the day watching the news and learned about Osama Bin Laden.
The next few days are full of haunting and inspiring remembrances: the flag at the Pentagon, the walls of fliers in NY that families made as they searched for their loved ones, the pile of rubble and the crowds that cheered the fireman who searched for survivors. Presidential addresses, a visit to DC where we felt connected to everyone, a drive by the Pentagon, a national day of mourning, a million conversations of "where were you?"  The raw grief, the tears, the anger, the horror, the empty pain and the prayers.
Since those days, I've learned of so much bravery: Flight 93, fireman and civilians carrying each other out of buildings, a man who wouldn't abandon his wheelchair-bound colleague and friend, both of them dying in the towers. Firemen, EMT's, and policemen that knew they would die, but climbed flight after flight of stairs anyway.
It's been ten years, a whole lifetime for my kids. A whole lifetime for me. We watched the Pentagon repaired, had Grant, visited the WTC to see the iron cross, had Blake and Hayden, walked the rows of benches at the Pentagon, had Cosette. That day is part of us, as inseparable as it is from American history. Although I wasn't touched personally with a loss, I mourn with America for the innocent lives lost. For the three year old on the plane, for the three thousand in NY, for the brazen confidence we used to have about our safety in the US. But I've learned that we are strong. When in danger, we help each other. When under attack, we turn to God. When we're hated, we gather under the stars and stripes. I love this country. I can't explain 9/11 or why it happened our how it's going to play out in the long-term. But I do know that 9/11 changed us and I'll hold it close and remember. So today, I join in Requiem for the lost. I look at a beautiful September 11th blue sky and pray for survivors, pray for our country, and promise to always remember.