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September 11, 2001
Sep. 11th, 2008 11:25 amI'm taking a few moments to repost something I wrote here on September 11, 2005. I reflected at that time on what I was doing that same date in 2001, and how it's affected me since then. It remains true today, although my birthday today is affecting me a bit differently. I might write about that later. I haven't written much lately, and I've got loads going on in my life and my head.
Taken from September 11, 2005:
September 11 is a day for rememberances, for many people. And for many reasons.
My parents don't dwell much on 9/11. To them, I am still the embodiment of that day, and as I am with them all the time in one form or another, they do not give lingering thought to the tragedy that befell our country seven years ago. They are patriots of course, and are sorry that so many have suffered. I merely mean they do not turn this day into a memorial service.
My own feelings about the day are mixed. There's a bit of childish resentment that "It was MY day first!" but primarily I choose to become a recluse on this day most every year. I always try to take off work if my birthday falls during the week.
I was off work in 2001. I remember coming home after taking Scarlett to school and turning on the t.v. At first I thought I had found some sort of movie by mistake, but quickly recognized voices of current newscasters. I lay on the couch curled in the fetal position as I watched the day become infamous.
I remember the feeling of impending doom at the sight of the first plane. I remember thinking "This isn't all, this is no fluke, this is no accident. What's next? The Hoover Dam? The Capitol? The White House?"
But what was next was as terrible as anything I could have imagined. I saw the plane coming, and braced myself as I watched the impact, over and over. The incredulity in my head was echoed in the voices of those newscasters. I almost went to school right then to pick up Scarlett. I'm not sure why I didn't, but I believe there was some local news person discouraging such behavior and that seemed like a voice of reason to me.
I remember calling the office and my friend Karen telling me they were watching t.v. there, too. I briefly tried to imagine being in the office while this was going on. Couldn't wrap my mind around it. I remember waiting all day, flinching at every sound on the television, just waiting for the terrorists to do something ELSE.
"Surely! Surely," my mind rationalized, "they won't stop at this."
My boss was stranded in Utah because the airports shut down. I worried about how our newest employee, who is Syrian, would be treated at the office that day and the next.
I remember with horror the photographs of people jumping to their deaths that circulated. There are few things that I find as mentally violating as a photograph of someone who is dying or has just died. They make me angry that people would share them because that is the ultimate of intimate private moments, in my mind. I was angry a lot at those damned email forwards.
I remember going to Mass with Pavanne several Tuesdays in a row after that, just for the comfort of the vaulted ceilings, the marble floors, the hard pews that creaked when you sat down, worn smooth from generations of Charlestonians. The holy water was cool on my forehead. The thing I remember most about that time was a beautiful October day walking down the street of Charleston after leaving lunchtime Mass. A plane flew overhead and everyone I could see stopped dead in their tracks. We all stood with necks craned and watched as it crossed the sky. I shook with some unnameable fear, and with relief. Relief? Because that plane was a sign that we were strong enough to continue.
I don't have a lot of further reflection on what developed from that fateful day. My life has gone on. I've been searched at an airport since that time. But I have not felt ANY real ramification from the events of this date on 2001.
I have been nervous for my Syrian co-worker, who opted to stay an additional day out of town rather than fly home on September 11, 2002.
I have had qualms at telling another co-worker in Iraq that our new employee was Muslim.
But overall, my life has been unfazed. I am still convinced that there were many more plots that have been thwarted before they ever left the ground. And for that I have to thank my government and the military.
Taken from September 11, 2005:
September 11 is a day for rememberances, for many people. And for many reasons.
My parents don't dwell much on 9/11. To them, I am still the embodiment of that day, and as I am with them all the time in one form or another, they do not give lingering thought to the tragedy that befell our country seven years ago. They are patriots of course, and are sorry that so many have suffered. I merely mean they do not turn this day into a memorial service.
My own feelings about the day are mixed. There's a bit of childish resentment that "It was MY day first!" but primarily I choose to become a recluse on this day most every year. I always try to take off work if my birthday falls during the week.
I was off work in 2001. I remember coming home after taking Scarlett to school and turning on the t.v. At first I thought I had found some sort of movie by mistake, but quickly recognized voices of current newscasters. I lay on the couch curled in the fetal position as I watched the day become infamous.
I remember the feeling of impending doom at the sight of the first plane. I remember thinking "This isn't all, this is no fluke, this is no accident. What's next? The Hoover Dam? The Capitol? The White House?"
But what was next was as terrible as anything I could have imagined. I saw the plane coming, and braced myself as I watched the impact, over and over. The incredulity in my head was echoed in the voices of those newscasters. I almost went to school right then to pick up Scarlett. I'm not sure why I didn't, but I believe there was some local news person discouraging such behavior and that seemed like a voice of reason to me.
I remember calling the office and my friend Karen telling me they were watching t.v. there, too. I briefly tried to imagine being in the office while this was going on. Couldn't wrap my mind around it. I remember waiting all day, flinching at every sound on the television, just waiting for the terrorists to do something ELSE.
"Surely! Surely," my mind rationalized, "they won't stop at this."
My boss was stranded in Utah because the airports shut down. I worried about how our newest employee, who is Syrian, would be treated at the office that day and the next.
I remember with horror the photographs of people jumping to their deaths that circulated. There are few things that I find as mentally violating as a photograph of someone who is dying or has just died. They make me angry that people would share them because that is the ultimate of intimate private moments, in my mind. I was angry a lot at those damned email forwards.
I remember going to Mass with Pavanne several Tuesdays in a row after that, just for the comfort of the vaulted ceilings, the marble floors, the hard pews that creaked when you sat down, worn smooth from generations of Charlestonians. The holy water was cool on my forehead. The thing I remember most about that time was a beautiful October day walking down the street of Charleston after leaving lunchtime Mass. A plane flew overhead and everyone I could see stopped dead in their tracks. We all stood with necks craned and watched as it crossed the sky. I shook with some unnameable fear, and with relief. Relief? Because that plane was a sign that we were strong enough to continue.
I don't have a lot of further reflection on what developed from that fateful day. My life has gone on. I've been searched at an airport since that time. But I have not felt ANY real ramification from the events of this date on 2001.
I have been nervous for my Syrian co-worker, who opted to stay an additional day out of town rather than fly home on September 11, 2002.
I have had qualms at telling another co-worker in Iraq that our new employee was Muslim.
But overall, my life has been unfazed. I am still convinced that there were many more plots that have been thwarted before they ever left the ground. And for that I have to thank my government and the military.
