A Sunny Tuesday in September a Decade Ago

I don't normally post on a Sunday, but today is special. I am putting aside my customary humor and travel adventures to give you something else.

 The frivolity of summer and the anticipation of fall came to a halt today as Americans reflected, prayed, worshiped, wept, remembered, and celebrated. We all know what happened on September 11, 2001. It is nearly impossible to be unaffected by it, whether positively or negatively, or whether or not you knew someone in the planes, in the towers, or in the Pentagon.

I was a newly-minted college senior and living the dream. That sunny Tuesday morning, I was puttering around my apartment just outside of Philadelphia, attempting to get ready for my first class.

My phone rang. It was my mother. Not unusual.

What was unusual was her first question, fired at me without even the briefest of hellos.

"Do you have the TV on?" 

I did not, but that would soon be remedied.

She insisted that I turn on the television immediately and what greeted me was confusing, horrifying, and bizarre. All at the same time.

The rest of the day is a blur. I honestly don't remember much of it except trying valiantly to contact my best friend who had just moved to DC for a semester internship. For hours I got busy signals and automated messages from the phone company.  By the end of the day, I had word that he was fine. One sweet relief in the midst of an ever growing national tragedy. I remember thinking on September 12th, that it was weird it wasn't September 11th anymore.

Life crept back into normal.  The events of that day impacted me, sure. But at 21 years old,, the world was mine for the taking. I had nothing holding me back, nothing to lose.

Ten years later, I am not that same person. Ten years later, this tragic drama holds more meaning and value to me than it ever did on that bright Tuesday morning in 2001.

The other night I was watching a program in which the events of that morning and the aftermath were told from survivor's perspectives. One story in particular made my gut wrench.

There was a woman whose husband worked in the South Tower, the second one to be hit. He called her after the North Tower was hit and before the second plane crashed and assured her that he was fine, but wasn't sure of what he should do. A few minutes later, his range of options became significantly limited.  He called her again, from the 105th floor, twenty floors UP from his office. She was instantly panicked-why was he above his office? Why was he still in the building? How was he going to get down? He told her he tried to get out onto the roof, but the door was locked. She begged him to try again. He promised her he would and put the phone down. He came back on and told her it was a no-go. He was by himself. There was nothing left to do.

He couldn't go down  and he couldn't go up. The realization that this would be their final conversation in life was suddenly present between them.

She said goodbye forever to her husband on the phone, watching his certain fate play out on the television before her.  Knowing that when she put the phone down,  the father of her children and her partner in life would be gone.

Can you imagine? I cannot.

Since that fateful day in September, I too, am now somebody's wife. Watching her story the other night was heartbreaking. I watched and cried, and then cried some more.

Since that fateful day in September, I now play the role of teacher. I do this in fairly conservative and largely homogenous West Virginia. There are certain pockets of anathema towards the ethnicity and religion that perpetrated this deed. But I cannot allow that in my classroom. Hate already finalized the events of that day, I cannot allow it to perpetuate. It is my job to encourage my students to consider the humanity of it all.

Life has changed in the last decade. I have changed.

Hold your loved ones a little tighter today.....and every day.