Reflection
I know that today there will be countless accounts and stories, people re-living these hours over again. Last weekend I was reminded that there are "defining moments" in our lives. Moments that shape a generation, that you can't help but remember where you were, and how you felt. I can't ever believe that there is a person in this country that wasn't impacted by the 9/11 attacks.
In the seven years since, I haven't written about that day, or even talked about it that much. Like most people, those hours are etched on my heart and every detail remains very clear. My memory is nothing special. It is the shared memory of many, yet I woke this morning and felt compelled to write it all down. You can choose to read on or not...this one is more for me than anything, but I know that we all hold the memories of where we were, what we thought and who we lost.
It was a cool morning, for September in Alabama. The sky was crystal clear. I had borrowed my mom's van and I should have gone to class, but my credit card was missing and so I was headed back to my apartment to search for it. I was frustrated and frantic to find it...it wasn't a good way to start the day. Driving down Univervisty Blvd., in front of the stadium, the phone rang.
"Where are you?" Brandi asked.
"I can't find my credit card, I'm going ho..."
"We're under attack." she said.
I don't think I processed it right away. I didn't have a frame of reference...it didn't make sense. As she started to explain that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center, the van drove itself, cutting behind the fraternity houses, headed to New College...my home away from home. I knew they'd be watching there.
"Meet me at Carmichael Hall. Where's Sara?"
There was a small crowd watching CNN. It's their faces that haunt me, the reflection of the whole country in shock. Brandi and Sara followed not far behind, just in time to witness the second plane. Someone's hand was on my back, I must have swayed a bit, grabbing for the chair to steady myself. It was a horrible moment where my eyes wouldn't obey, wouldn't leave the screen as it was shown over and over again.
"Jeff's in there, oh my God, Jeff's in there." I couldn't dial the number dialed fast enough, praying for him to answer the phone...perhaps he'd called in sick, maybe he was running late. There was no getting through. I hadn't known Jeff for very long. He was a friend/co-worker of a friend. We had a good connection and he always made me laugh. I would find out later that he was at work that day. A co-worker was having a baby shower and he was there. He helped get people out after the plane hit, and then he went back in to try and help some more just before the towers collapsed. He was a pacifist and a lover of the Muppet's.
There is an image that will forever haunt me from that day. Dr. Jerry Rosenberg, my adviser, my mentor and my friend stood in the door way. I had studied with him for years, he taught me about the Holocaust, Genocide and power of hate. Jerry had visited the concentration camps, he stood witness to the horrors of history. As the second tower fell, our eyes met and his words rang so true.
"Our world will never be the same" he said. Calm and clear he turned and walked to his office.
The days that followed, I seemed unable to look away. I wanted to know everything, searching for some answer, some solace. I read everything, it was hard to not be inundated by it all. There was a need to try and understand. The campus held a candle light vigil with speakers, music, prayer and then silence. A moment of silence broken only by the first plane any of us had seen in days flying overhead. It was, and remains, an amazingly powerful moment in my life. I keep the wax from that vigil candle. A piece of Jeff's memory and a constant reminder that "Our world will never be the same."
In the seven years since, I haven't written about that day, or even talked about it that much. Like most people, those hours are etched on my heart and every detail remains very clear. My memory is nothing special. It is the shared memory of many, yet I woke this morning and felt compelled to write it all down. You can choose to read on or not...this one is more for me than anything, but I know that we all hold the memories of where we were, what we thought and who we lost.
It was a cool morning, for September in Alabama. The sky was crystal clear. I had borrowed my mom's van and I should have gone to class, but my credit card was missing and so I was headed back to my apartment to search for it. I was frustrated and frantic to find it...it wasn't a good way to start the day. Driving down Univervisty Blvd., in front of the stadium, the phone rang.
"Where are you?" Brandi asked.
"I can't find my credit card, I'm going ho..."
"We're under attack." she said.
I don't think I processed it right away. I didn't have a frame of reference...it didn't make sense. As she started to explain that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center, the van drove itself, cutting behind the fraternity houses, headed to New College...my home away from home. I knew they'd be watching there.
"Meet me at Carmichael Hall. Where's Sara?"
There was a small crowd watching CNN. It's their faces that haunt me, the reflection of the whole country in shock. Brandi and Sara followed not far behind, just in time to witness the second plane. Someone's hand was on my back, I must have swayed a bit, grabbing for the chair to steady myself. It was a horrible moment where my eyes wouldn't obey, wouldn't leave the screen as it was shown over and over again.
"Jeff's in there, oh my God, Jeff's in there." I couldn't dial the number dialed fast enough, praying for him to answer the phone...perhaps he'd called in sick, maybe he was running late. There was no getting through. I hadn't known Jeff for very long. He was a friend/co-worker of a friend. We had a good connection and he always made me laugh. I would find out later that he was at work that day. A co-worker was having a baby shower and he was there. He helped get people out after the plane hit, and then he went back in to try and help some more just before the towers collapsed. He was a pacifist and a lover of the Muppet's.
There is an image that will forever haunt me from that day. Dr. Jerry Rosenberg, my adviser, my mentor and my friend stood in the door way. I had studied with him for years, he taught me about the Holocaust, Genocide and power of hate. Jerry had visited the concentration camps, he stood witness to the horrors of history. As the second tower fell, our eyes met and his words rang so true.
"Our world will never be the same" he said. Calm and clear he turned and walked to his office.
The days that followed, I seemed unable to look away. I wanted to know everything, searching for some answer, some solace. I read everything, it was hard to not be inundated by it all. There was a need to try and understand. The campus held a candle light vigil with speakers, music, prayer and then silence. A moment of silence broken only by the first plane any of us had seen in days flying overhead. It was, and remains, an amazingly powerful moment in my life. I keep the wax from that vigil candle. A piece of Jeff's memory and a constant reminder that "Our world will never be the same."