Nine-eleven. I guess that's what this day is called now...or "Patriot Day" which is a term I really can't stand. It should really be called Remembrance Day (I know, that's another name for Veteran's Day, but since that is the official name for it now, I think we could use it for this one.) I mean what do we do on this day every year? We remember. Remember where we were, remember every emotion we went through, and remember those who were lost - so many people in so many places and from so many different walks of life.
Of course the question will pop up for years to come: Where were you when 9/11 took place? Well, I was getting ready for work, turned on the tv to the Today Show, which I watched every morning back then, and saw that a plane had flown into one of the towers. "Oops," is what I thought. I had heard of other instances where small planes had accidentally flown into the Empire State Building, etc, so I figured that happened again...until I watched the second plane hit live on tv. Okay, this isn't right. That's when I woke the hubby up and told him what I just saw. I continued getting ready for work while poking my head out over and over to see what was going on. Hubby decided to get out of bed to see what was going on and that's when the call came over the tv that the Pentagon had been hit as well. Whoa. Now it's more than one place? What's next? Pandemonium and chaos was coming from the tv, nobody knew what was going on. I didn't want to go to work, but I had to. I left the tv, got into the car, turned on AM radio, and as I pulled out of the garage, the first tower went down.
Work was a physical therapy clinic in a strip mall that had no tv, no internet, only the radio. We were all glued to it, though from time to time a patient would actually show up for his or her appointment. Even when they did, conversation remained with the events of the day and the speculation on the parts of the closed-minded employees who I worked with at the time. The other tower went down, airplanes were grounded, a rogue plane was headed...somewhere. Fighter jets flew over somewhere close to us and broke the sound barrier. Then there was only silence outside.
That silence is what made my fear appear. It was an unnatural silence. Nothing in the air, everyone was inside glued to the 24-hour news stations that were reporting any bit of information they could, even if it wasn't accurate. I wondered how much more there was to come, if "they" were going to hit Chicago with something, if my 13-month-old son would be safe.
It was only in the days after when we knew the "who"s and "why"s that the fear left and we could then focus on the loss. The immense number of those lost. The ones who were going about their business and lost their lives instantly at the office, the ones who were trapped in those planes used as weapons and saw it coming, those who were in the panic of trying to get out and couldn't make it in time, the ones who were doing their jobs and trying to help people get out, and the ones who took things into their own hands, knowing they might not make it, but wanted to take the chance.
I feel for those who lost family members that day. Their loss, however, shouldn't be used as a political campaign or excuse for hatred or a contest to see who is the most patriotic. Use the day to be thankful for those you have, for the air you breathe, for the diversity of life around you, and let the hatred and anger go.
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