Memory of Today
- Repost
It is the anniversary – once again- 24 years ago today, September 11, our sense of peace and security was shaken to its core. I re-read this post and wanted to share it again.
Many people in this country (born before September 11, 2001) 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 a 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 on 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 over coffee, stunned and confused by all that had happened since morning. We knew the long, complex, and emotional work had begun to recover all who were 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?