Each generation has a tragedy to "call their own". Just like the Kennedy Assassination and the Challenger Explosion, our generation will have "Where were you on 9/11". Not what were you doing when you found out, or where were you when the planes hit, that part is just assumed. The question still posed as "Where were you on 9/11".
I am ashamed to say that I was sleeping, but I was. The windows were open and the curtains flapped like birds against the wall. The sunlight had been pouring in for hours and by all practical purposes it was a beautiful early fall day in the Berkshires. That day on 9/11. The phone rang, Amy reached for it. I heard her with a groggy hello greet the caller. Suddenly I was jabbed in the ribs and was demanded to release the remote. I gave it to her, still unaware of the tragedy the rest of the nation was coming to realize. Quickly slumber bliss turned into dark horror. I rolled over and joined Amy sitting up in bed, mouths agape.
Sadly at this time we still did not know of the anguish that would befall the nation. All that had happened was a plane flew into one of the twin towers. It could have been an accident. It had to be, Who would fly a plane into the twin towers on purpose? Then as we watched, Amy already having hung up, a second plane hit the other tower. The heartbreak could be heard in the news caster voices as they tried to maintain a certain level of professionalism. The plane flew in and all that came out the other side was putrid black smoke and blazing orange flames. When I look back I can still envision the sight in my minds eye. Quickly we switched from the local stations, away from Ed Dauge and Lydia Kulbida, to CNN. Maybe they could tell us what others couldn't. Claims of terror, hopes for accidents, reports from the officials...say where is the president? Sitting in a classroom reading books to children later to be condemned for that choice, I still agree with. No need to alarm young children just yet.
More reports trickled in after knowing that the twin towers were hit. A third plane flew into the pentagon and yet ANOTHER plane was somewhere over Pennsylvania making a bee-line towards the capital. Anxiously we all awaited what would happen. Then nothing. Several brave people knowing what had transpired earlier took some of the sting out of the gushing wound. Flight 93 crashed in an empty field. Later we were to find out that another plane that was scheduled for LA was grounded contained bags filled with manuals for this.
I called into work that day, so did Amy. There wasn't going to be any way to concentrate. We sat glued to our television set, moving between the bedroom and living room and occasionally surfing the web to find out all the details we could. As we learned more about this al queda and some guy named Osama Bin Ladin who has a different spelling of his name depending on what news station you are on. We heard of gas price increases, nuclear reactors are in danger, poisons in our subways, watch our mail. Panic has grasped our country and we have no one to turn to but each other. Just when we thought the tragedy was enough and nothing more could possibly happen, it did. Reports were coming in that the structural damage to the towers was so great that they could fall over. As we watched the news for more details breaking news came from New York City. As people came pouring out of the towers they collapsed upon themselves. Down went one and then the other. A hole in the New York City sky line slightly smaller than the hole growing in our hearts for the people still inside the towers and for the family members watching this unfold.
Feats of heroism, pleas for help, frantic searches for loved ones, friends, and co workers started. All the rest of the nation could do was sit and watch, helpless, scared, and sad. Desperate to reach other family members or anyone they just might have known living in NYC or Washington DC.
Personal stories started to be heard as cluttered phone lines began to free up. So-and-So's co-worker's daughter works at the Pentagon and if she wasn't out picking up her dry cleaning that morning she would have perished in the attack. A friend of a friend lives in NYC and could see the planes fly into the towers. Personal stories that made us sure that we weren't dreaming, this was real, and we did have to deal with it.
I had been to those towers just once before in my life. I was about twelve and on a Girl Scout field trip, my mom the leader. I vaguely remember going up into the towers. I remember seeing lots of flags and getting into elevators and off of elevators just to keep going up - the elevators were staggered so that they could reach the top. We got off on the observation deck and got to put our feet on the railings and foreheads on the glass, peer down at all the little cars, busses, people below. I had been in one of those towers, though I don't remember which one or any other significant fact about it. I had been there. I somehow felt attached to it at this point.
As the days wore on and gas prices did not increase, no more survivors found, reports complied, families coming to the realization that their mother, father, brother, sister, husband, child would not be coming home, the nation mourned. We all felt the impact of 9/11. Television networks cancelled their shows so that their families could be with their loved ones and we would do something OTHER than watch some dumb cooking show when everyone else is doing family things. We all went to our local grocery stores and big box stores to gather supplies and send them to New York. We donated our money. We went to church, we prayed, we bought little trinkets that reminded us of that day. We put up our American flags, we wrote and sang songs about the tragedy, about the nation. We were putting on our reds, our whites, and our blues and showing the world that we would not be destroyed. We would not let the lives of over 3,000 innocent Americans and foreign countrymen be forgotten. We pledged our faith and hearts to finding who did this and making sure it never happened again. We cried REBUILD! Rebuild.
Just six months after 9/11 I went back to the towers. This time there would be no country flags, no rides in the elevator, no foreheads on the glass in a gift shop. We first went to ground zero and were told to come back - you can't get any closer without a ticket (mind you , I still have the ticket). So we got our tickets and our viewing wasn't for quite some time so we did other things around the city. We walked towards the harbor on Wall Street and passed a small fire house. We stopped to look at their display case that listed the names of their fallen brethren. We realized that if we could walk from Ground Zero to there then they must have been one of the first on the scene. Our heroes that day. We were on the Staten Island Ferry (quite by accident...you certainly can't get to the Statue of Liberty on it.) and on the way back into the city you could just see the hole, the vast empty space that once was two of the tallest buildings in the world, a symbol of economic prosperity, and quite phallic. We departed the ferry and made our way back to the site. We recognized the streets from the news. The same streets that thousands of people ran down, screaming and crying we were walking the other direction. We paused briefly at a small church adjacent the site, not one scratch to it, not one window blown out. We craned our neck to look at a hole in the ground. Not just any hole - THE HOLE. All the debris had been removed, safety nets still hung on touching buildings that were in danger losing windows still fragile from the blasts and falling of the towers. We stood for what seemed an eternity with other people there making their own personal pilgrimage. Each one of us there for different reasons and for all the same reasons. We had to see for ourselves the cowardice, the sadness, to be close to a national symbol that was no more. We left the site and passed the famous wall of pictures - pictures of people still missing or of people that perished in the attack. Our hearts heavy, we left the site and went to Time Square. We had to move on.
Six years later there is still a hole there - people debating what to do. Rebuild, make a park, leave a hole, we still have nothing but a hole. We have gotten no closer to finding Osama or made any significant advancements in defusing al queda. But one thing rings true. We haven't forgotten. We can't ever forget.
Lets take a few minutes to recap the fun weekend I just had...not only was it fun it was....bizarre, disgusting, entertaining, painful, and long!
Woke the next morning and headed out to the Renaissance Festival. We get maybe half way there and I thought I was going to die. Had to find a bathroom quick smart. Of course, traffic was backed up and people were laughing at me and it wasn't nice. We get back onto 169 and head down towards the festival leaving the check in of the hotel to later on that night. More backed up traffic. We get to Ren Fest and park in the year 2000 (literally) and walk down towards the show - year 1570 or something. It was a hike. We toured around, poking our heads in shops, saw people in costume (complete with a drag-wench) and sampled some food and took a trip to the Privies. We saw a jousting competition and then caught the Puke & Snot show. Spent way too much money on food so we decided to head out and catch a Perkins. We ate dinner (at one of the last establishments in Minnesota that allowed you to smoke while you eat at the table). After that we headed out to the hotel.