It is the anniversary – once again- 23 years ago today, September 11, our sense of peace and security was shaken to its core. There are few people in this country (born before September 11, 2001) who do not remember where they were on that Tuesday morning.
I can picture exactly where I was as news began to report the attacks in New York, the Pentagon, and the plane crashing in a Pennsylvania field. As a chaplain in a large teaching hospital, I was always on high alert, prepared to respond to unspeakable traumas daily. This particular morning, the routine had been normal -- it was time for a cup of coffee after making the first rounds in my assigned units. Sitting with another staff chaplain, we begin to notice small clusters of people gathering to talk about airplanes crashing into the World Trade Center in Manhattan. Not in my wildest imagination could I have considered what was to come.
So many people tell stories of how their lives changed on that day. The natural response was to search out and contact loved ones – to hear their voices or see their faces. That morning, my brother, sister, and I were waiting for our parents to return from a two-week holiday in Paris, France. Their flight was to land in Newark, New Jersey, sometime mid-morning. In the blink of an eye, their return became a big and scary question. No one knew where these lethal planes had originated, and waiting for that news would seem a lifetime.
What could we do? How would we find our parents amid such chaos? During those two weeks, Mom and Dad were with my aunt and uncle, who were still in Paris. I called my uncle’s office, spoke to his secretary, and gave her information on contacting me when and if she received news from my uncle. I then called my brother, who lived in Alexandria, VA, a chaplain at a private preparatory school. My sister-in-law answered the phone from their basement. The next exit from their house was the Pentagon. The ground around them shook as a plane crashed into the Pentagon's walls. The noise of rescue vehicles and helicopters filled the air near their yard and home. Now, there was concern for our parents flying around New York and for my brother's family so very close to another attack. A call to my sister brought some comfort; she and her family were safe, alert, and aware.
It was not long before we knew that the planes used for these horrific acts were domestic flights. They had left American cities on course to attack other American cities. As the day unfolded, news began to report that these actions were planned in Middle Eastern countries, far away – by people known as terrorists (a term that would become all too familiar in the days and years to follow).
After hearing these details, the question remained: Where were the international flights – where were our parents? It was late morning before my pager alerted me to a call from my uncle’s office. Mom and Dad would not be landing on American soil, not on that day nor many days to follow. Their plane was en route to an Air Force military base in Gander, Newfoundland. Along with many other international flights, they would land and remain in Gander for several days while waiting for clearance. A book was written (THE DAY THE WORLD CAME TO TOWN), and a Broadway play (Come From Away) was produced about this small town’s big heart, telling of their vital work as a part of the 9/11 rescue.
As the afternoon waned, the same chaplain and I met again, stunned and confused by all that had happened since morning. We knew the long, complex, and emotional work began to recover all the injured and honor all who died. Feeling helpless, we talked about who might need our prayers and support. We soon found ourselves in a professor's office at the School of Medicine. He was Muslim and sitting alone, feeling the enormity of this day.
In silence, we shared prayers for direction and peace.
...where were you?
(revised and re-posted)
So many powerful reminders of that day.
I was the mom of a four-year-old toddler. I was making the bed, with the morning news show running in the background. I heard them speak of a plane hitting the World Trade Center. I stopped and sat on the end of the bed as live footage ran behind the anchor person. Suddenly another plane came into view, and hit the second tower, I screamed, as my daughter remembers. In the rush of disbelief, and shock, I knew instantly this was no accident.
I shut off the TV, calmed my child, and tried to gather my wits. I took my toddler to preschool, and tried to explain to the Director, what I had just heard. She was confused, as the morning routine of the preschool was lively and chaotic. She looked at me quizzically, as no one else had mentioned anything. In that moment, I must have appeared as a mad woman. I returned to my car and turned on the radio . As I drove home I heard about a third plane hitting the Pentagon. My gut wrenched, and I wailed aloud. My daughter was safe with her dear, sweet preschool teachers. I was a wreck as I tried to make sense of what I was hearing, and seeing. I went to a neighbors home, and we continued to watch the news feed - stunned, and shocked. We saw the towers fall. We screamed, and cried. The enormity of lives lost. We could not fathom what, why, how, this was happening. We sobbed together.
Around noon, we separated to pick up our children at their respective preschools. I brought my daughter home, trying desperately to act as if all was normal, wondering if it ever would be. Of course, I’m certain, our children sensed our distress, but we were doing the best we could. I did not turn on the TV or radio the rest of the day, but remained anxious to what else may have occurred.
As evening came, we all gathered at my neighbors home sending the children off to the bonus room, for pizza and play. We turned on the news, but kept the volume low. It was all impossible to fathom. Another neighbor couple, who worked in downtown Charlotte, spoke of being sent home, to safety, and the evacuation of downtown. I have no idea how late we all stayed together, but we needed each other, and we needed our children to have some normalcy with their friends.