9/11/13:
Loyal readers, I beg your indulgence today. Today I am going to step outside my normal realm and discuss the topic of the day, September 11, 2001. I also plan to do something that I really avoid and that's get super deep into my personal life. As you may note, I never use names in my descriptions. I never delve into extensive personal details. In essence, I try to keep my personal life and my blog life semi-separate. Today, I break that rule.
Much like the generations ahead of us can tell you where they were when they heard Kennedy had been shot, everyone who is old enough to recall the events of September 11 can tell you exactly where they were and what they were doing. That being said, I would like to relate to you all the story of that day for my family.
In September of 2001 my mother was working, as she still is now, for the New York State Education Department. Her job requires her to travel during the school year all across the state of New York to help keep track of the states discounted lunch program. She also travels to teach food safety and proper food handling, something that she is an expert in. I knew my mother was in New York City on September 11th, but exactly where, I had no idea. I put way more effort into whatever pointless and ridiculous things seniors in high school fretted about. The fact that mom was out of town was certainly not as important as wearing the right clothes, saying the right things and fitting in with my friends.
My mom vividly recalls her trip to into lower Manhattan at 7am that day. She said to us, "It was difficult getting a cab that morning. More-so then usual. We finally were able to catch one. We told the guy where we were going, the World Trade Center plaza. He looked at us, hesitated for a few minutes and finally agreed to take us. It was the fastest cab ride, and the scariest, I have ever taken. This guy flew down there, dropped us off, snatched is fare and was gone back up town before we knew it. But it's NYC, so we didn't think anything of it. We went into our building and set-up for our meeting."
While my mom was setting up her class, I was sitting through a favorite class of mine, Forensic Science. We were spending the class reconstructing things. Some were putting broken panes of glass back together. Others were trying to match torn matches up to the book they came out of. A typical morning we were 17 and 18 with out a damn care besides ourselves. It was American youth at its finest.
My mom tells us her morning was uneventful after setting up. Class began and the teaching was standard. Some people were eager to learn. Others were just there. It was a typical day. At 8:46 am they were interrupted by a giant boom from outside. The building shook. Confusion and inquiry flew thick around the room as everyone went to the window to look for the source. They saw nothing really out of the ordinary so seats were retaken and teaching resumed. A few minutes later a building manager came into the room. "One of the towers has been hit by a plane. Everything is just fine. Just stay here. Everything will be ok." And off he went to the next room with the same message. Needless to say a break was called and people went outside to see what was happening. My mom went outside to call my dad. My dad was a fire investigator at the time (he has since retired) and one of the premiere ones in the state. My dad knows fire and explosives like Bill Gates knows computers or Wolfgang Puck knows food. My mother stood out on the street, surrounded by people she never met and will never know looking up at smoke pouring from the side of the tower listening to a recorded Verizon message telling her that her call can not be completed at this time because the network was busy. And while she stood among this noise and chaos she heard 2 voices in her head. The first was my dad saying "You need to leave. That building is going to come down" The second was her father, who had died the September prior, saying "Get your people and go now." My mom raced back inside to her room and said, "Pack up, we are leaving now." The authority in her voice left no room for question and the packing and exiting began.
At the time the first plane hit, it was the end of second period. I was leaving Participation in Government and headed for my lounge period. As I worked my way through the crowd, I learned of what had happened. To this day, it is the strangest passing of information I have ever been involved in. I passed by a classmate who was coming from lounge, Mark. Mark was a monster in high school, easily towering above the crowd. He looked at me and yelled, "They attacked us man. They hit us!" Who hit us?" I yelled back. "Get to the lounge, it's on tv. They hit us man!" And that was all. We shared this information at the top of our lungs each being carried in opposite directions by streams of people. And no one seemed to care. There was no panicked or excited conversation. No crying. No screaming. Just two flowing rivers of high school students trying to make it to class by the next bell. My stream deposited me at the senior lounge where I was greeted by my first images of smoke billowing from 2 buildings. "They just hit the second tower," said one of the tv watchers in the a voice that dripped somber sadness into a cup of incredulous disbelief.
My mom had begun to lead her group back uptown toward their hotel. With 5 people in her group, there was always someone turned around watching. "Oh my god!" was the cry that spun them all around. It was 3 simple words that captions the mental video all of them will have of plane number 2 dropping out of the sky and plowing with wreckless abandon into the second building. "We had no time to scream out. No time to even think," mom said. "All you could do was watch what was 2 very different objects suddenly combine into 1 scene of horror." A feeling of stunned disbelief struck the group rooted to the spot. A wave of shock that results from your brain unable to process or believe what your very eyes just saw washed over them and all those around them. Suddenly my mom knew they really had to go. She shook herself out of her disbelief and pushed the group on.
As we sat in the lounge I will always remember it as the quietest that room had ever been. There were no jokes. No conversations. No laughter. Not even crying. There was just the sound of a newscaster who was so unsure that the words they were saying were true that in retrospect it is almost as if he was reading a movie script. Image after image pelted our adolescent brains. We sat there together, people from all walks of life watching the same tragedy replayed over and over and over again, as one single confused entity. This doesn't happen here. This doesn't happen in our state. This doesn't happen to our people. This doesn't happen.
As my mom and her group lugged their bags block after block towards uptown the world around them crackled with insanity, terror, panic and disbelief. My mom vividly recalls hearing thuds and turning around. She watched as people leapt from windows countless stories up, willing to fall 100's of feet rather then be trapped in a burning building. What disturbed her the most was the children. Truly, I cannot begin to wrap my head around what a vision of a child being thrown from a window does to a person and here it was being seen by my mom. As they continued uptown they began to hear a loud rumble. They turned around to watch the South Tower collapse at 9:59 am. As the dust cloud savagely pushed its way towards them, they rushed on. It never reached them, but they could sense it clawing at them, trying to involve them in it's tragic feeling of destruction, hopelessness and confusion as it enveloped so many others.
Every class after that first view of a tv that day was dark, quiet and above all different. This was high school. Our biggest concerns are the weekly football game, fitting in, homework papers and awkward dating. Not the loss of thousands of lives. Not the actions of everyday Americans that stepped up to risk life and limb to save others. Not a group of men who fought off terrorists above the skies of PA. Not the military men and women that ran into a burning and broken Pentagon to drag others to safety. And certainly not the hundreds of rescue personnel who willing ran into burning crumbling towers to guide others to safety. It wasn't fair. It's not how it was supposed to be. And yet, here we were. Sitting in a dark classroom, math forgotten, staring at a tv screen as all of these things flashed across the screen. It was, above all, different.
Mom's group paused briefly as the second tower crumbled to the ground in a rumble of extinguished lives, vanquished dreams and shattered futures. They wiped the tears from their eyes and pushed their tired bodies to keep going. Safety was the goal and that would only be reached upon reaching their hotel. Finally, salvation was in sight. As they entered the lobby, the concierge came right up to them. He was a friend of my moms as she was a frequent guest due to work. He led them all to his office and brought them bottles of water and food. They had walked 64 blocks (just over 3 miles) carrying bags of computers, binders and equipment. They were tired and scared. None of them had spoken to their family. No one knew if they were alive or dead. They were brought a phone, the greatest gift of that moment. My mom called my dad and let him know she was safe. It was the that phone call that produces a feeling words cannot describe. Relief is too subtle. Joy is inappropriate. Calm is misleading. It's just that feeling when you connect with that one person in the world that makes the world better regardless of the horrors in it. I don't know what that's called, but that what that phone call for my mom was.
It was roughly 11:30 and I was sitting in lunch. The only conversation on the lips of those around me was the tragedies in NY, PA and DC. I will be honest, that this whole day it never once crossed my mind that my mom was in NYC. That I had NO idea where and that there was a chance she could be dead. Never once stuck me. Then the loud speaker burst to life and calmly summoned me to the front office. Then, right at that moment, everything I had not considered punched me so hard, I couldn't breath. Everyone around me looked at me as I rose and began an unsteady walk to the front of the building. My little sister was a sophomore when I was a senior and I met her in the hallway. Tears were streaming down here face which caused a rip so deep in my heart and soul that you could have walked through it. I took her hand and we walked to the office. When we were almost there, our DARE officer and family friend, Officer Casey met us. "She's ok. She's on the phone and wants to talk to you," he said. It was one of the greatest sentences I have ever heard spoken. We got on the phone with my mom. "I just wanted to call and let you guys know I'm ok. We are getting out of here tonight. Dad is coming to get me. I'll see you both tonight. I love you very much," mom said in a calm voice. How she managed it, I don't know. But she spoke 5 calm and sure sentences that bespoke of a sense of security none of us felt but desperately wanted to. I will never forget that moment of strength by my mother for as long as I live.
My mom made it home safely that night. She told us her story and that was the only time. Flash forward a year or 3 or 10 and you can still see the effects this 1 day had on the strong woman I call my mother. She hates this day with a deep passion. If the calendar could go from 9/10 to 9/12, she would gladly embrace that. They say time heals all wounds and yet time has not begun to touch the wound these people inflicted on my family. I remember in 2011 when my sister, pregnant to the point where a sneeze would have popped my niece out, cried & prayed that she would not be born on her due date of 9/11. She couldn't bear the thought of my niece sharing her birthday with a day that caused my mom such mental and spiritual pain. I'm in no way religious, but even I got down on my knees and asked the powers above to have her born on a different day. She was born on the 12th.
I make sure to call my mom every year, to let her know how much I love her. This morning it was at 8 am before I went to bed. I try to call my parents and siblings at least once a week and I hope you all take an opportunity to do that too. We never know when life will change on us. On September 11, 2001 I'm 100% sure that there was a kid who woke up excited. It was their birthday. Cupcakes for the class, anticipation of gifts and maybe even a party that night. Then, their whole day changed. Cupcakes were forgotten. A party was ignored. Nothing happened as it was supposed to. Their whole world changed without them having a real grasp as to why. Or a police dispatcher went to work that morning to cover a routine shift. Just another day. And at 8:46 their entire world was turned on its head. Somewhere in the massive confusion and activity they had a radio conversation with a police officer or firefighter. And those words that they spoke were the last words ever uttered by one of them. Lives greatly altered by one event...
Take the time today, tomorrow and everyday after to let the people you love know it. Tell people what you feel about them. Do things everyday that make you happy. Live this life that we have been blessed with. You don't know what 8:46 on a random Tuesday in September, of any day for that matter, is going to bring. Thank you, my friends, for indulging me today. I wish you nothing but happiness and safe days.
