“I can’t believe it’s already been 15 years…”
Today is September 11, 2016. Most of us have probably heard or read that thought, or perhaps have even said it ourselves, at some point today, or in the days leading up to it. I’ve already fired off a series of tweets, retweeted some whose images and sentiment were said better than myself, not caring if I’ve annoyed anyone by how many times I’ve used the hashtag #NeverForget. I don’t care if I’ve annoyed anyone. Not today.
Because we can’t forget. We really shouldn’t forget. September 11, 2001 was the scariest moment in history that I’ve ever witnessed, albeit on TV, in my lifetime. I try and think of the generation(s) before me, who lived through the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. As I’ve said before, sometimes we take for granted the comfort and security that comes with living in the United States, and when that comfort and security is attacked…
For a moment, we are shaken. We go through the motions: shock, sadness, anger, strength, resilience. And in those last two motions, we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and give the proverbial “oh ho ho ho, HELL NO…it is ON” to whoever did us wrong.
I usually wonder where “everyone” was on that day. When I went to visit Stonehenge eight years ago, I wondered who was standing around these behemoths when the first plane struck? I ask my cousins who don’t live in the United States. I ask anyone I meet who is from the East Coast, especially New York.
(You’ll have to excuse me from time to time. As I write this, I’m watching my babies play against the New York Mets, just as they did fifteen years ago on September 21. They are down 1-0, and Yoenis Cespedes just hit a grand slam to make it 5-0. Arrgh.)
I still remember the day pretty well. It had been a few weeks since I moved into my freshman dorm at Pitzer College, a few weeks since I hugged my parents goodbye and thanked them for driving me and my stuff down to Southern California, reassuring them that their youngest child and first to leave home was going to be ok. It had been a week since classes started. At the time I was living in a triple (myself and two roommates) in one room. It was about 7:00 or 8:00 in the morning. I was the first to get up, and quietly began getting ready to go to my work study job at 10:00am.
One of my roommates had set her clock radio to turn on as a means of waking her up. As she stirred awake and groggily got out of her bed, the hosts on the local morning radio show were taking calls from listeners – one had just finished telling him, “I been doing laundry to try to take my mind off it…” The host ended the call and said something about a plane crashing. By this time our other roommate had woken up, but so far none of us had uttered a word. We were still in morning mode, and we rarely spoke to each other anyway. A plane crash, while still sad and unfortunate, was nothing we hadn’t heard of before. I didn’t look at any of my roommates, but I think all of us were just thinking “oh, that’s too bad.” The host continued speaking about ways to help, about coping with tragedy, but he didn’t get specific about what exactly happened yet.
Then the he said “the second plane crashed.” I was standing at my closet trying to figure out what to wear (some things haven’t changed in fifteen years), but at that moment, I immediately looked at the roommate with the clock radio, and she had looked up at me from her desk at the same time. She had a confused, yet concerned look on her face. “Second plane?” she asked. “Did they crash into each other?” I replied. “How could they not see the other one coming?”
(The Braves have loaded the bases with no outs. Perfect time for momentum change in this game.)
We continued with our individual morning routines in silence, still listening, still trying to figure out what happened. One roommate finally turned her computer on. Here I don’t remember if she saw an email sent out to students about classes being cancelled, or if she saw on the pictures on the internet of the what was transpiring on the other side of the country from us. We didn’t have a TV, but my friend across the hall from us did.
I went out and knocked on her door. It immediately flew open, and she looked like she had been up for a while.
“Hey, do you know –”
“Oh my God Connie, we’re under attack, I’ve been watching all morning, come look.”
She grabbed my arm and pulled me further into her room, towards her TV tuned to the news, perched on her desk. That is when I first saw both towers, dark smoke billowing miles up and away. I couldn’t move, blink, or speak. My friend’s voice sounded muffled even though she was standing right next to me, but some of her words were crystal clear. “First plane….crashed into the first tower……short while ago…..another plane…..second tower…..they’re attacking us…” The news channel replayed footage of the second plane hitting the second tower a few more times.
What? What????????? I didn’t know what any of this meant. I never had a solid inkling of what terrorism was. The only hint of war activity in my life at that time was back in second grade during the Gulf War; I knew it was sad but as a kid I didn’t comprehend yet the magnitude of “us vs. them,” especially when none of the activity took place on U.S. soil.
Nothing else that day mattered. Shops and restaurants off campus nearby were closed. Everywhere, it was a ghost town. On campus we were in our dorms, huddled around small TVs, with laptops in our laps finding out the latest news on the internet…seeing the latest images.
Prior to that day, I hadn’t flown much in my life. But flying home every few months from college, the post-9/11 travel rules and regulations became my norm. I learned more about anti-American sentiment. I learned how much more evil there was present in the world, and I learned how naive I had been. My heart went out to the city of New York, a place I had never wanted to visit (because of the history between the Braves vs. Yankees and Mets), but suddenly had a strong desire to go there and embrace it. The same with Washington D.C. Years later I was lucky enough to visit both, and paid my respects at Ground Zero.
September 11, 2001 was a wake-up call. Not just to the fact that despite being a global powerhouse the U.S. can still be a vulnerable target, but in spite of that, we as a people can put aside our differences and come together. Amidst the “all about me, the individual” culture we have in our country, there was hope…
Several years ago – the exact year escapes me right now – on another 9/11 anniversary, I was watching a “never-before-seen” documentary on 9/11 filmed from the perspective of two brothers who were already working on a project involving NYC firefighters. I sobbed as I watched the footage of them standing in the lobby of the first tower, and heard these loud crashes coming from the floors above them. A voiceover explained, “it was the sound of bodies landing…we thought ‘what hell could be up there that would cause them to jump?'” There was another image I remember seeing of someone falling headfirst, and the caption read something along the lines of “taking their last breath of fresh air before death.” My heart just hurt for everyone at Ground Zero, especially because it felt like we all knew the likelihood of finding survivors was slim to none. But first responders surged on with hope…
(Pausing because Timothy Miller is singing “God Bless America” in the middle of the 7th inning…)
I mean, my God. I don’t need to recount anymore the magnitude of how every horror of that day played out, because we all will never forget, right? Here’s the thing:
Out of respect for the innocent lives lost at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and in that Pennsylvania field, and their families who continue on with the memories of their loves ones, we must never forget how life can end in an instant.
Out of respect for the first responders (firefighters, police, EMTs, civilians) who headed toward the disasters while everyone else ran away, we must never forget the courage, bravery, and sacrifice of anyone willing to put their lives on the line for their fellow humankind, American or not, friend or stranger.
Out of respect for the men and women of our armed forces, we must never forget how the attacks of September 11, 2001 placed a heavier weight on their shoulders as they continue to defend our country and freedom, and how lucky we are to have that protection.
Out of respect for everyone directly affected by the attacks, who survived and have to live with PTSD or any other health issues, we must never forget how some people can’t forget, even if they want to.
Out of respect for people who have been wrongfully accused, and even harmed, of being affiliated with the hateful groups who carried out these attacks, who hate our very existence, we must never forget what it means to choose love over hate.
Don’t ever forget how cruel the world can be, and how kindness and compassion can and will always overcome any amount of hate. It will never be easy, it may not happen overnight, and we’ll still have our problems here and there, but as the events of 9/11 have taught us anything, together we can get back up, we can build again, we can heal again.
(Ugh. The Braves just lost to the Mets 10-3.)
We are responsible for each other, that’s the perspective that can easily get lost over time. We have to remember that. We must never forget.