It has been over a week since the 10th anniversary of September 11th, 2001. I had written this a while ago, but was not able to post it on the actual 10th anniversary which was last Sunday. I almost didn't post this at all. However, after some thought, I decided I was going to post it anyway. September 11th, 2001 is not one of those days we should just remember on an anniversary of that day each year. It is important that we always remember. We all knew where we were. Forever will these images be imprinted in our minds. At only twelve years old, there are things I will never forget from that day. No matter how different my story is from one person's to the next, it can never compare to the horror of those felt in line of fire during those pivotal hours in our American history.
It was a sunny Tuesday morning and the second day that week that we, as 8th grade children, had to take our PSSA tests. Early on, as the day started, we jumped right from homeroom into our tests. After a long test that started the day was completed, we were permitted to take a break. I wandered over to the window to take advantage of the warmth of the sun that was shinning in, and probably staring out at the playground counting down the hours until recess. The rest of my classmates were talking and created a white noise of laughter and chatter. I heard the sound of my teacher's radio. Above the chatter, I heard a single word spoken from the radio, “planes.” It was a passing word, in a brief splice of sound that I found innocuous at the moment. The hum of the classroom and my own juvenile daydreaming was what filled my ears and mind. However, not long after I heard the radio, it was clicked off and my teacher was furiously on and off the phone that hung on the wall at the front of the room.
As I was already separated from the rest of the class for silently and independently taking my break time alone, I quickly was more aware of the tension and urgency that the rest of the adults seemed to have. I believe we were told that testing was being postponed, for whatever reason that was given. Teachers quickly rotated between the classrooms, as we were instructed to stay quiet and take this time as study hall to read, write, or do homework. Soon more and more children were being called away from class to go home. My sister and I were also called to the office. Both of our parents were waiting to pick us up. At the time, my dad worked in a very tall building in Philadelphia and took the train into the city each morning. However, with more prominent skyscrapers on city horizons fearing that their building would be the next target for another plane, my dad was told to go home.
I give so much credit to my parents. As scared and confused as I am sure they were, the understanding of what happened that day was slowly and cautiously translated for my sister and I. I remember passing a growing oak tree as we were leaving the parking lot of the school that day and my dad pointed to the tree and said, “Girls, today was a sad and very serious day. With as many leaves are on that tree, are how many people we lost today.” I remember that sticking in my mind and odd enough, still remember the image of that tree. September leaves preparing the colorful transformation of their death all seemed very metaphorical. Still green with life, but winter coming too soon.
We were in between houses during that time, and lived with my Dad's mom, our grandma Mary, until we could move into our new home later that year. When we got into the house, the TV was already on relaying the horrifying images in New York. Just two days earlier, during the weekend, our grandma Rose and our great Aunt took us on a day trip to New York City. We went to many of the popular tourist attraction destinations; Ellis Island, Statue of Liberty, Time Square etc. I remember distinctly being on the ferry that took us to Ellis Island and for a few moments staring back at the island of Manhattan. My eyes were starring out and locked onto the twin towers of the World Trade Center. A great and large characteristic that was the New York City skyline. As the boat moved and my perspective changed, one of the towers would appear to be moving. As one tower slowly started to hide behind the other, it gave the illusion that the tall steel bars were undulating like waves. I remember this little memory in my mind so distinctly. I don't know why I remember such a silly and small detail about that day. Nothing else seems to be as prominent of a memory as staring back at the last images I would be able to admire of those buildings.
I could watch no longer. Sitting in the living room, staring in horror, I remember my mom thanking God that we were not there today, or else she would not know what to do. It hit me that I was there a mere two days before the city was attacked, and that this was really happening. In my twelve year old mind, I didn't know when this wold stop, and if every major city, down to our small residential home was going to blown up or attacked. I ran upstairs and went to my room. I closed the door behind me and began to cry. I looked at my wrist and remembered, for probably the first time all day, that I was still wearing a bracelet that I had gotten at one of the gift shops in New York that weekend. Without releasing the latch, I ripped off the bracelet and threw it across the room in a rather dramatic fashion. I cried heavy tears of childish confusion and fear. I must have cried myself tired because I woke up later that afternoon wishing that it had all been a nightmare and I would not have to figure out why things like this happen. It was not a dream. All the children of the parents that died that day rang out in my head. I cried and hugged my mom and dad so tight that night as we sat around the kitchen table, with some of us still unable to find sleep or understanding.
One of the lasting, most horrifying images that still stay in my mind are the hundreds of lives that plummeted to the ground from the World Trade Center buildings. Hundreds of people who figured that they were never going to make it, and jumping was the better option. I've heard it put very sensitively that in a way, it was their final decision on how they would perish. I can't imagine the thoughts that would go through one's head as they are free-falling to their death, or if by some great mercy of God, there was not pain or worry felt as they were ready to be embraced by heavenly light. I believe no merciful God of ours would ever make suicide, especially in this situation, a sin.
The next day, my disposable camera pictures that were sent through the mail that weekend, was shipped to my grandmother's house. On the back of the photos wrote out “printed on Sep. 11, 2001.” We flipped through the pictures as many of them showed the twin towers mere days before they would stand no more.
It is something that we cannot ever forget. For the respect of the tireless and unflagging work that was done in order to save the lives that were spared that day. We remember so the lives lost were not in vein. The incomparable bravery from the police, fire departments, and EMT who walked into the crumbling building, and into fire. We remember the talented angels called nurses and doctors who treated the injured and saved many lives that day too. I spoke to a young fireman recently and he mentioned how now is a time that we focus on “thanking a solider,” which is something we all must do, but we cannot forget all the work that is done to keep us safe and protected here at home. Allow yourself to think about this day. Allow yourself to cry. Absorb it into your heart. Hug your loved ones a bit more. Devastating things happen when actions are motivated with hate instead of love. Love your-self and love others.
