September 10, 2010

• September 11th

  That evening, we sat in the pews, rejoicing as good news of each church member who worked in the trade center drifted in. Living through the grief, fear, and anxiety, we needed to be together, to see each other, to touch each other. Cell phones didn’t work and we had no way of knowing who was safe and who wasn’t until they were home and able to contact us. We were on our knees, begging for good news, begging for safe passage, and we weren’t sure who was missing and who was never coming home.

  Local news channels were gone for days, leaving us dependent on CNN or Fox news. The rumors were wild and true. We counted each loss, fearing the worse, knowing in our hearts that this day would scar us forever.

  School had been really bad- in all my years of teaching, it had never been so horrible. Parents and staff members crying uncontrollably, losing it in front of the students. Students crying and acting out from the fear that they’d never see their family again. Parents broke through the doors to get to their children and told everyone, in between sobs, that World War 3 had started. Under lockdown, we tried to keep students preoccupied when all anyone wanted to do was watch the tv set and talk to their loved ones. Almost everyone had been touched in some way- had a story to tell about the day. Was the world ending? Was this the beginning of the end? No one knew, and the not knowing hung over us. When dismissal time came, we weren’t sure that the students would be allowed to leave, but we didn’t have enough water or food to keep everyone under lock and key for too long. Police escorts arrived at the school as we dismissed students one by one to a relative or family friend. Driving home, the sound of air raid sirens made you crouch in your car and you hesitated to stop at red lights. Already our fire fighters were on their way to the city to relieve what was left of the NYC force. 

  Bob had lived through the earlier bombing of the Trade Center, and was running late that morning. Bob was never late, but he couldn’t find his razer, couldn’t find his shoes, couldn’t find his keys. He caught the later train into the city and sat on it, dead in its tracks, while the towers burned. It took him hours to return home, alive and well. When he entered the sanctuary, we reached out to touch him, to reassure ourselves that he was real and still with us. 

  Raheem had an appointment at the Trade Center that morning, but the person he was supposed to meet had the flu and called him just as he left for the city to reschedule the meeting. Some parents left for work that morning and never returned. Everyone was touched. We all knew someone who was never coming home that night, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, killed just because they went to work that morning like they were supposed to do as reliable citizens. 

  The only planes in the sky for days were military jets, flying patrol, trying to keep us safe from the next attack. How silent the sky felt when they weren’t circling it. There was a raid on the house around the corner from school, and the street was closed off while the FBI and others searched it, taking the inhabitants away. They were part of the terrorists group, rumor said, as if it knew something. 

  The thing that amazed me was the country’s reaction to the horror on the East Coast. How could people on the other side of the country care about how we were feeling? How could they even know what we were feeling? It was personal to us. It was our beloved ones. It was our lives turned upside down. But they did… they cared a lot. More than a localized attack on the city and nation’s capital, it was an attack on the entire nation, leaving us hurting and angry, feeling betrayed and alone. 

  How do you trust someone who looks different from you after this? When you’ve been attacked by people who look like the people pumping your gas or charging you for your Slurpee, you see evil everywhere you look. You have to remind yourself that trust is a critical part of being human, to be the kind of person that won’t let an act of terror rob you of more than it’s already taken. Tolerance you teach the child who has dark circles under his eyes from the night terrors the experience has left behind. Forgiveness, you say to yourself, makes you strong as you watch one more funeral, one more memorial, one more good-bye forever. We worried about innocent people being attacked in acts of revenge. We wanted revenge, we all did, but we didn’t want innocent people hurt in the process. Too many innocent people had already died in this act of hate. 

  There were many heroes that day and in the days that followed, but the scars remain forever on the heart of a nation. How quickly the anger dissolved and people forgot. How much longer before 9/11 becomes just another date on the calendar or a trivial question. Where were you when you heard about 9/11? Where were you when JFK was shot? Where were you when…. ?

  Revisited and revised from 2004…

  • 5:11 pm
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