September 11, 2011. The ten year anniversary of a day that I should not be allowed to forget.
But it snuck up on me.
Today a friend of mine shared some thoughts she has been having as this anniversary date is upon us, and I allowed myself to think back and remember what I saw, heard, and felt on September 11, 2001.
I had just started my sixth year of teaching Kindergarten and First Grade. I had a great team of teachers that I loved seeing everyday. I was proud to be teaching for one of the greatest principals in the district. I was engaged and ready to start the married part of our relationship. And I was looking forward to my first solo trip to New York City on September 21, 2001 to visit a very good friend who had moved there.
Life was great!
On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was in my classroom and kept hearing bits and pieces of things going on in New York and then Washington. We had one tv in a conference room that the custodian and secretary had on to get updates. We were all running in there to watch Diane Sawyer in her white sooty blouse broadcast live from the scene. We watched the loop footage of the first plane crashing into the tower. We stared in disbelief, and then gathered ourselves as we headed back to the classroom to meet our students and act as if nothing had happened.
As my students came in, these five to seven year old children, they gave me more information. I remember a boy saying, "Two planes crashed into a tall building!" I had only heard about the first plane at that point so I said, "Two? Are you sure there were two?" I pulled up my computer screen and verified that a second plane had indeed crashed into the towers. This same boy would later cry softly during circle time as it sunk in that his "mommy works in a tall tower", a building in our city's downtown.
I remember thinking of my very good friend living in Brooklyn. I knew that she took the subway to work every morning, and that she would pass through the train station under the World Trade Center. I called her cell phone, and thankfully she answered! She was standing on top of her building in Brooklyn with other neighbors watching the smoke fill the sky. She was going to work late that day after working late the night before. She was fine. I remember telling her that I love her, and to be safe. She told me to tell everyone she's okay. She had a friend at work in that building. She would spend several days searching for him or anyone that saw him get out of the building. She would be the contact for local authorities since his family was in Minnesota. She would provide details about what may have been on his desk, in his wallet, on his person so that they could identify him if they found him. I never knew that horrible detail until a year later. I can never know how much she agonized over those details. How much she wishes she could have been chatting with him months later rather than attending a memorial service and dedication in his hometown in Minnesota.
I remember a student coming in a bit late saying "A plane crashed by the President's house." I started to correct him and say that the President doesn't live in New York, but his mother told me that a plane had crashed into the Pentagon. I felt like things were spinning out of control. What was happening? Would we all be sent home? Were we safe?
I remember sending an email to my friend who lives in D.C. I remember her words of reply soon after: "We're all fine. Scared shitless, but fine."
I spent a lot of time just talking with my students that day. I tried to calm them, reassure them that we were safe. I remember showing them on the map where New York is, where Washington is, and where we live in the Midwest. I remember telling them that we are so far away from the bad stuff. But were we? Where was all the "bad stuff"? Who were the "bad people" crashing airplanes into buildings? I certainly did not have those answers.
Parents starting coming early to pick up their kids. They would walk into the room, looking shell-shocked, but calm. And I remember that each one gently kissed their child, hugged their child as if they hadn't seen each other for days, and held their child by the hand or in their arms as they left the room.
I didn't have children of my own. I had no idea what they were thinking. Were they worried that their kids weren't safe? Were they worried that the same things could happen in our city?
Now that I have children, I think I have a better idea of what they were feeling.
Relief.
Relief that it didn't happen to you, your spouse, your family. Relief that your child wasn't in a daycare at the site, or a school just down the block. Relief that your baby was safe and that you were able to pick him or her up from school because you were safe too.
I remember driving home that day, a beautiful early fall day, and seeing a set of three airplanes fly over the interstate. Traffic actually slowed to watch this trio of planes pass overhead in a blue sky that the FAA ordered free of all aircraft until further notice. I would learn later that it was Air Force One and two fighter jets returning the President to the East Coast from his undisclosed location.
As much as I didn't want to see the horror happening in New York and Washington, I knew that I would be glued to the TV as soon as I got home so that I could get all the details. I watched non-stop coverage, on numerous channels. I watched the planes crash over and over on each news report. I watched the people gathering with candlelight vigils all over the country. I watched Diane Sawyer continue to broadcast live from the streets of New York where she had been since running from the set of Good Morning America early that morning. I watched one of the nightly news anchors (Peter Jennings? Tom Brokaw? Brian Williams? I can't remember which) get choked up as he ended his broadcast. He had just heard from his daughter or son who was overseas, and I could see the relief that he knew all of his children were okay. I remember his words as he choked back tears, "Parents, hug your children tonight."
I have other fuzzy memories from the days immediately after September 11th.
I remember talking to my friend in New York and deciding not to make my trip to see her the following week. I remember she said, "Don't come. It's so sad here. And it smells bad."
I remember watching all the news reports, and seeing all the faces of those who were "lost". I remember the looks on the faces of those looking for lost loved ones as they shared pictures, and told what floor their loved one worked on or what emergency crew they were with that day.
I remember crying. A lot. And I hadn't even lost anyone.
I remember when Broadway reopened after 9/11. I remember hearing the story of the musical "The Fantasticks", a show running at the time not far from The World Trade Center. On its first night back after the attack, many in the audience and a few in the cast were moved to tears as the lyrics of the opening song took on a new meaning. Here are a few of those lyrics, written 40 years before the recent events:
"Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow . . .
Try to remember the kind of September
When no one wept except the willow . . ."
Deep in December it's nice to remember
the fire of September that made us mellow
Deep in December our hearts should remember
And follow . . . follow . . . follow . . . follow . . .
I took my trip to New York the following year, September 2002. I went to the site of the World Trade Center. I saw the giant flag hanging from a crane. Saw the cross constructed out of steel beams. Saw all the pictures and other memorials hanging on the fence around the chapel across the street. I saw the giant hole that used to be buildings. I felt the pain, the sadness, the loss of that city. And, as much as I love New York and my many visits to the city, I was so grateful that I didn't live there and didn't have to feel all that pain every day.
Now, ten years later, I am still a teacher. I still live in the Midwest, but love the bustle and excitement of the big city. I am again taking a trip to New York in September. But now I am the mother of two small children. The news is again showing images from that fateful day. Diane Sawyer again did a segment on the babies born to men who died on 9/11. The babies who are now almost ten years old. I cried when I saw them because I thought of my own babies and how much my husband would have missed if he had died before they were born. I can't imagine raising them without him, and I can't imagine what they would be like now without their Daddy.
I finally, ten years later, have a better understanding of the parents who walked into my classroom to pick up their children on that morning in 2001. I know how it feels to hold your child in your arms when you are sad. I know the relief and calm they bring when you see them again and they look exactly the way they looked when you left them. I know that when the world seems crazy, when things are spinning out of your control, your children center you.
My children are my purpose. And even on their most naughty, most hyper, most annoying days, they are my reason to be. I wouldn't trade my NOW for any of my THENs. But I will remember the events from my past, and I will learn from those events so that I can be the mother my children deserve. I owe that to the mothers and fathers who never came home to their babies ten years ago. I remind myself to enjoy every minute of our life together because I never know when my last minute with them will be.
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