I imagine most people who are reading this remember where they were on 9/11. You don’t have to put the year, we all know what we are talking about.
I live on the west coast so I was still sleeping when the chaos started.
My day begin with a phone call from a neighbor saying we were under attack. I thought she must be over-dramatizing something. If only.
I saw the first tower collapse. We woke our 12 year old son up. Explaining to a 12 year old what was happening was near impossible, wasn’t it? We had no idea. We saw the second tower collapse. Worried about my sister who lived in the DC area. Worried about my dad who flew a lot. My family was all fine.
It was all so senseless. All those innocent lives.
From my back yard you see planes on their final descent into Oakland and SFO. The sky was so quiet. It was so eerie.
I remember going to a baseball game, the first one that A’s played after the tragedy. Do you remember singing the national anthem in the those days? It suddenly meant so much more.
A few years after 9/11, I sat next to a woman on a Southwest flight who had seen the second plan crash into the tower. She told me her story of what it was like to be in NYC. We drank too much on that flight; sometimes numbing the pain seems a very reasonable way to deal with it.
I remember going to Ground Zero, I think it was in 2004 and seeing what was left, what they were building. So sobering.
I remember finding out that Osama Bin Laden was dead. That was a good day. I know there are those who say we should not celebrate his death. But it is not a celebration of jubilation. It is a celebration of justice.
Even now, 11 years later, I still tear up thinking up that day. It was all so insane.
I wonder for our ancestors who lived through the attack on Pearl Harbor, was it those same feelings? What is happening? Why? And did it linger with them for years and decades like 9/11 does for us? I imagine so.
We shall never forget.