Well tomorrow is just another Saturday for many of us - me included.
But as I was sitting down to write this posting I was reminded of what tomorrow will mean to the families of the victims that perished during the terrorist attacks on 9/11.
Some people will be visiting grave sites that hold no bodies. Other will hold family BBQ's to remember their loved ones that are no longer here with us and all of them will remember.
I remember that morning like yesterday, rushing, on my way to the office. Stopping at the Naval Air Station and picking up some new plans for a job we were working on. I remember being on my cell phone arguing with a subcontractor about wiring for controls when the radio announced a plane had struck one of the trade towers in New York City.
It had to be a joke. This radio station was renowned for their jokes even when it wasn't April Fools Day. But then the DJ's partner came on to assure the listening audience that it was indeed true.
I remember getting out of my truck and running into the office because there was no way a plane accidentally hit the trade tower. There was immediate pandemonium as we gathered in one office to watch the news reports that we could pick up via the Internet. After about twenty minutes of speculation, we all piled into my truck and headed to the boss's house to watch the news that would for the next forty eight hours dominate our lives.
I remember sitting in her den, on that cold leather couch and watching horrified as the second tower was struck in front of our very eyes. Than later watching as the first tower fell and then the second. The hours ticked by with all of us shell-shocked, past horrified and overwhelmed by the images on the screen.
My husband had worked the night before on some gear installations so his clock was set to wake him up around 3:00 pm. I drove home in a daze and had the unfortunate job of waking him up and telling him about the events that had transpired while he was sleeping. We turned the TV on and sat glued in front of it for the rest of the evening hoping that survivors would be found.
I remember getting into bed that night and my heart literally aching for all of the people who lost loved ones that day. And my husbands final words before sleep took me were, "I went to sleep this morning and the world looked one way, when I woke up it was changed, you were changed, I was changed. I don't think we will ever get that back."
10 comments:
Beautiful post. Thanks for reminding us.
I remember that day so clearly. I was watching when the announcement came on the news that a plane had hit the first tower, and I prayed it was some sort of freak accident. When the second tower was hit, as I watched, I knew it was so much worse.
I won't ever forget. I hope nobody will.
As long as I live and breathe, I will never forget where I was and how I felt that day and every day after. I have not, and will not, forget. Great post. I contemplated writing one about 9/11 as well. I can't believe it's been nine years. Wow.
It's one of those days that we will all remember exactly where we were when we heard about the planes, the collapses and the casualties. I live in NY, about an hour from Ground Zero. I watched the towers fall on TV with some of my colleagues.
Later, once I was at home, Navy fighter jets flew patrols over my home.
It's still very real for me, because a neighbor and the father of one of my daughter's friends was lost in the towers. He was a NYC firefighter and I will never forget his wife's endless wait, until finally there was only resignation that he hadn't made it. It was numbing. I had friends who walked out of the city, over bridges and through tunnels and they were never the same.
I've said this before, but my greatest fear is that the memory will fade. I truly believe we have to be as "normal" as possible on 9/11 just to show our enemies they did not win, as long as we take time to remember.
I'll never forget. I believe a certain pastor in Florida has forgotten how hatred breeds terror.
I don't live far from Jeannie, who wrote she's about an hour from Manhattan. I was sitting at my desk here at CA when a coworker came in and said a plane hit one of the towers. We all thought a small private plane got lost so we headed to the cafeteria where several ceiling-mounted TVs are always tuned to news.
Before our eyes, a second plane turned toward the other tower and at the last possible moment, knife-edged so that impact would do exponentially more damage to a civilian target filled with people who never influenced - and in fact, were powerless to affect the US foreign policies that us so despised.
Even though we saw what happened, everyone refused to say the obvious: deliberate attack. We hoped, prayed, it was just a malfunctioning aircraft, a depressed pilot, something - anything but the truth.
An hour later, I sent my staff home, truly believing I would never see them again. I was certain the world, as we knew it, had ended. I rushed to my sons' elementary school, took them home. I had to pull over twice because I could not drive through my tears. We, the greatest nation in the world, were under attack and if we had to die that day, I wanted to die with my children in my arms.
We went home. I live very close to Islip MacArthur Airport, so close, the planes look as if they'll land on my house.
No planes flew that day, except military fighters that rattled every window.
Robbie was 9 and kept diving under the table. Something in him changed that day. Chris was just 6 and played happily in his room. I am grateful for that now.
My brother-in-law was working at the World Trade Center that day, one of the lucky ones who managed to walk across the bridge, covered in ash.
He has never spoken about the people he saw jumping from windows, the pieces of people he had to step over to make it home, the friends he lost. Sadly, he has never recovered and divorced my sister last year.
I cry buckets every time I see footage of that day. I cry when our National Anthem is played because every word seems to bleed now. I'm crying as I write this.
Forget? No. But I wish all these years later that we'd healed, that we'd learned hate breeds more hate and that building mosques - building anything EXCEPT a memorial on the Ground Zero site in Manhattan and burning holy books does nothing but pick at scabs.
So true. I too, watched the building get hit live on TV, and I called my Dad to say, "Can you believe this?" only to find out he was home from work, and hadn't so much as looked at a television. So I too, had to break the news to someone who didn't know what had happened.
The world did change, and we changed. Still, when the sky is blue and clear and perfect, I think of that day, because that's whhat it looked like here in Ohio too. Perfect.
Little did we know.
Great post...I think we all remember it like yesterday and it's important to never forget...
Your post is touching, Kelly. I do remember where I was when it happened, and how it took me so long to believe something so horrible could really be happening.
Thanks everyone for stopping by.
I don't ever want to forget and I am so glad to know I am not alone.
Here's to keeping the memories alive.
Kelly
The first thing I did was call my best friend who lived in the city at the time, in Soho. I couldn't get in touch with her all day. Thankfully, I heard from her later that week.
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