Six years ago
It's hard to believe that it's been six years since September 11th became a date that we'll never forget instead of just another day in September.
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I was teaching kindergarten then, and the teacher in the next room had her break time earlier than I did. I was sitting at my desk doing some testing on students, and she walked into the room and whispered something into my ear. She spoke so softly and quickly that I didn't understand what she had said, but I knew from her tone and behavior that something dreadful had happened. The first thought I had must have come from hearing just bits of pieces of the words she had whispered to me, because I thought, "Oh my God, this is my generation's Kennedy moment." I honestly thought she may have told me that the President had been shot but asked her to repeat herself and got some basic detail of an attack, although I can't for the life of me remember what on earth she told me or what I knew at that time. Our classes were in one large room with a divider wall separating us except for a common area in the back of both of our rooms, so I walked to where I could see into her classroom and looked from there at the images on the TV. Walking back to my students, I had no real understanding of what was happening - just that it was horrible and scary. I couldn't put the TV on to find out more details, so I went through the motions of the rest of our morning schedule, waiting desperately for my break so I could find out more information. I remember thinking of how they all sat there, playing and reading and learning - so innocent, so oblivious of the horror that was unfolding. I was scared to be away from James, who was in preschool twenty minutes away in our church. The realization that his preschool was located in the downtown area - an area surrounded by tall office buildings - terrified me, especially since I knew so little about what was going on. In my head, I wasn't sure if he was at risk, and there was nothing I could do about it.
On my break, I called Jim immediately to see what he knew. He gave me more details, although still sketchy ones. We were under attack. I'm not sure that much other than that mattered at that minute - I don't remember asking who did it or why, just where, and did he think that anything would happen locally. I watched the events on TV for the rest of my thirty minute break and then had to go back to get my kids and pretend that everything was ok.
We were told not to say anything, not to act like anything was going on. Especially with kindergarteners, they certainly wouldn't have understood, and anything we could have told them would have scared them, so we were to leave it up to the parents to discuss that night. But parents were obviously afraid, as I was, and many of the kids were picked up early that day. I remember playing along like it was a normal day in front of the kids, but as parents came to the door to pick up their children, I'd look in their eyes. I could see the fear in their faces, and I could let my face relax for a second, my eyes saying to them "Oh my God. Oh my God." As each child left, I merrily told them to have a nice night, and then said quietly to each parent, "Stay safe." I wasn't sure if we were in danger, but I wanted to wish them all well just in case. It was sad to send those little children out into the world where I knew they would see images on TV and hear adults talking about the attack. I couldn't protect them from it any more.
I was so relieved to pick James up from school although I dreaded having to talk to him that night about what had happened. Jim was home early, and we tried to casually tell James about the awful things that had happened without scaring him. We encouraged him to pray for the people who lost their lives and to pray for our country and for all of our safety. I don't think we frightened him. I only wished I could not be frightened.
We lived very close to the airport in Fort Lauderdale, so we were used to always hearing planes flying over. The silence in the sky was terrifying - at that time, I'd never in my life lived with a sky with no airplanes in it, and their absence was a confirmation that things were not OK. Occasionally we'd hear a fighter plane. When the sky was so empty and quiet, seeing or hearing a fighter plane overheard is not much of a comfort. I knew that they were there to ensure that things were ok, but they only served as a reminder that things were not normal, and that we needed them patrolling our skies.
September 11th happened just as my doctor had given us the green light to start trying to get pregnant. I had battled pretty severe anemia since February and had waited anxiously for him to say that I was healthy enough to start trying. Now, here we were, hoping to add another child into our family, and I found myself terrified at the idea of bringing a baby into a world where I felt that our safety was uncertain. I remember lying in bed one night, crying my eyes out, asking Jim "What are we doing? What should we do?" I didn't know what the world would be like in forty weeks, and the possibilities that I pessimistically imagined frightened me. We didn't get pregnant that month, but we did the next, and by then there was already talk in the media of a possible post-9/11 baby boom. We hadn't anticipated jumping on that particular bandwagon, but that's how it ended up happening, and I am so thankful now that I didn't let my fears keep me from going ahead and having Logan.
Only a few days after 9/11, James and I had tickets to fly to Georgia to visit my parents. I can't remember the exact date - it was either the 17th or 19th - and they had only opened up airports very shortly before we were to fly - maybe only the day before. I struggled and struggled with the decision of whether or not to fly. I was terrified to take him on that plane, horrified of the thought that there could be a repeat of the events of the 11th. I asked Jim for his guidance and input - I didn't want to take his son on an airplane if he thought we'd be in danger. His only advice was that I needed to do what I felt was right, but that if we didn't take the trip, then we were surrendering to the terrorists and letting them win. In the end, we did make the trip, and I think I barely slept the night before. I tried to figure out what I would do if I realized that our plane was being taken over. I never decided between my two options - telling him that we were going to die and holding him in my arms, telling him over and over that I loved him and praying as I waited for impact, or just pretending everything was fine, telling him I loved him, and singing and laughing our way out of our lives. Of everything I went through with 9/11 and the days, weeks, months, and years that followed, it's this thought, this scenario that I rehearsed in my head that night that brings me to tears worse than anything else. I felt like I was potentially taking him on a trip that would end in our deaths, and while I understand that every time we get in a car or cross a street, it could potentially be the end for us, I doubt that many people go through their lives rehearsing how they would handle a deadly situation that day. Sitting at the airport waiting to fly that morning, I found myself looking at everyone around me, and I hate myself for judging some of those people by the color of their skin or my guess at their nationality. Once on the plane, it was eerie. We were two of probably only 20 people on the plane, and we were seated the furthest back of everyone. From my seat, when I turned around, there were rows upon rows of empty seats. It was a quiet flight - there was almost no noise, no conversation. The flight attendants were serious but tried to act relaxed. They weren't very convincing. I have no fear of flying or of airplanes, but I was so relieved to be back on the ground that I nearly cried. I really don't think I expected us to survive that flight, but I knew that I had to have faith and not let my fear impact our lives.
Today, on the anniversary of 9/11, my heart aches for those who lost our lives that day. The innocent passengers on the airplanes. The men and women working at their desks. The firefighters and police officers and brave heroes off of the street who died in those buildings. My heart aches for the children who lost a parent and for the babies born after 9/11 who never even met them. May we never forget the victims from that day, and may we also never forget to appreciate the men and women who leave their families and go to fight for our country and our safety.