We promised we would never forget. So here’s what I remember:
I remember the phone ringing and waking me up on a Tuesday morning. My aunt sounded upset, but I was too tired to register that and said, “Oh, Aunt Kathy, I’m glad you called. I needed to get the name of the lady who does your hair..” She interrupted to ask if I’d been watching tv, and told me that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. I went out to the living room to tell my mom, who was giving a piano lesson, and went back to my room to watch tv. I saw the second plane hit, and went out to tell my mom. I saw that the Pentagon had been hit, and went out to tell my mom. It seemed like every few minutes, I was going out to share more bad news with her.
I remember how scary that morning was. We didn’t know when it was going to stop. It seemed like one thing after another. Many of the skyscrapers in downtown Chicago were evacuated, including my dad’s. I remember my mom and I pleading with him to come home, and him calmly explaining that he had responsibilities. If he’d been in the twin towers, no doubt we would’ve lost him because he would have been helping other people. He did finally come home early, much to our relief.
I remember driving to class at Concordia that afternoon (because they didn’t cancel classes), and noticing how eerie it was to not see planes in the sky.
I remember hearing that some students’ parents had shown up on campus to pick up their kids. (They were from more rural areas.)
I remember going to a chapel service on campus late that afternoon. This is one of my most vivid memories. We did a liturgy called the Litany, and never have I said “Lord, have mercy,” with so much emotion. Lutherans are not very expressive, but everyone there put their heart and soul into those words. It was one of the strongest times I’ve felt the Holy Spirit’s presence.
I remember feeling more patriotic than I ever had before. I loved hearing the stories of people just loading up their pickup trucks and heading to New York to see what they could do to help. We all just desperately wanted to help. When they asked us to give blood, the response was overwhelming. We hated feeling so helpless. But it made me feel so proud to live in this country where we were able to set aside our differences and say to the world, “Do your worst, but we will continue to love and help each other; you can’t break us.” The darkness of the terrorists brought out the light in us. What a shame that it takes a tragedy to do this, and that we can’t seem to remember this lesson we learned. What a shame that, nine years later, the Republicans tried to block a bill for 9/11 first responders just to thwart the Democrats.
I remember being in awe of the heroes in the police and fire departments who ran up into the buildings instead of away from them.
I remember watching footage of people cheering in the streets and realizing for the first time how the rest of the world perceives us.
I remember a day or two later, when President Bush had a national moment of silence. I was driving to see TJ in rehab, and I pulled over to pray. And then everyone sang, “God Bless America.” All of a sudden, everyone was singing this song, and I had never heard it before.
I remember how we were afraid to laugh again. No one was sure how to be funny. I really enjoyed the South Park episode that showed one of the kids’ moms laying on the couch, watching CNN 24 hours a day. That was exactly how some people dealt with it. And I remember The Onion doing an article with the headline “A Shattered Nation Longs to Care About Stupid Bullshit Again.” My favorite line: “Where have you gone, J. Lo? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.” The day before, J. Lo was the most important thing in our news.
I remember the nation waiting, eagerly anticipating what Bush’s reaction would be. I listened to his speech at work at Yankee Candle while cleaning the store after close. We were thrilled that the U.S. was going to DO something, although the thought of a “war on terror” was overwhelming. But we needed to feel like the U.S. was taking action. (Then, Bush announced that we were going into Iraq , and we all said, “Huh?”)
Everything changed that day. It was a Tuesday just like any other, and within minutes, our nation changed. I think that’s what I remember more than anything else- how the mundane turned tragic within instants, and things would never be the same.
What bothers me now is thinking about how ethnocentric we are. When all those men from Seal Team Six were killed recently, my dad commented that it was awful, but that during WWII, a hundreds of men were killed daily. And then I thought about the great losses of life in other countries, where there is genocide and starvation, and how these tragedies are happening all the time and we’re not even aware. This felt real because it was so close to home, and it helps me to remember that deaths in other places aren’t just numbers, they’re people, just like the people we lost here.
I remember the phone ringing and waking me up on a Tuesday morning. My aunt sounded upset, but I was too tired to register that and said, “Oh, Aunt Kathy, I’m glad you called. I needed to get the name of the lady who does your hair..” She interrupted to ask if I’d been watching tv, and told me that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. I went out to the living room to tell my mom, who was giving a piano lesson, and went back to my room to watch tv. I saw the second plane hit, and went out to tell my mom. I saw that the Pentagon had been hit, and went out to tell my mom. It seemed like every few minutes, I was going out to share more bad news with her.
I remember how scary that morning was. We didn’t know when it was going to stop. It seemed like one thing after another. Many of the skyscrapers in downtown Chicago were evacuated, including my dad’s. I remember my mom and I pleading with him to come home, and him calmly explaining that he had responsibilities. If he’d been in the twin towers, no doubt we would’ve lost him because he would have been helping other people. He did finally come home early, much to our relief.
I remember driving to class at Concordia that afternoon (because they didn’t cancel classes), and noticing how eerie it was to not see planes in the sky.
I remember hearing that some students’ parents had shown up on campus to pick up their kids. (They were from more rural areas.)
I remember going to a chapel service on campus late that afternoon. This is one of my most vivid memories. We did a liturgy called the Litany, and never have I said “Lord, have mercy,” with so much emotion. Lutherans are not very expressive, but everyone there put their heart and soul into those words. It was one of the strongest times I’ve felt the Holy Spirit’s presence.
I remember feeling more patriotic than I ever had before. I loved hearing the stories of people just loading up their pickup trucks and heading to New York to see what they could do to help. We all just desperately wanted to help. When they asked us to give blood, the response was overwhelming. We hated feeling so helpless. But it made me feel so proud to live in this country where we were able to set aside our differences and say to the world, “Do your worst, but we will continue to love and help each other; you can’t break us.” The darkness of the terrorists brought out the light in us. What a shame that it takes a tragedy to do this, and that we can’t seem to remember this lesson we learned. What a shame that, nine years later, the Republicans tried to block a bill for 9/11 first responders just to thwart the Democrats.
I remember being in awe of the heroes in the police and fire departments who ran up into the buildings instead of away from them.
I remember watching footage of people cheering in the streets and realizing for the first time how the rest of the world perceives us.
I remember a day or two later, when President Bush had a national moment of silence. I was driving to see TJ in rehab, and I pulled over to pray. And then everyone sang, “God Bless America.” All of a sudden, everyone was singing this song, and I had never heard it before.
I remember how we were afraid to laugh again. No one was sure how to be funny. I really enjoyed the South Park episode that showed one of the kids’ moms laying on the couch, watching CNN 24 hours a day. That was exactly how some people dealt with it. And I remember The Onion doing an article with the headline “A Shattered Nation Longs to Care About Stupid Bullshit Again.” My favorite line: “Where have you gone, J. Lo? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.” The day before, J. Lo was the most important thing in our news.
I remember the nation waiting, eagerly anticipating what Bush’s reaction would be. I listened to his speech at work at Yankee Candle while cleaning the store after close. We were thrilled that the U.S. was going to DO something, although the thought of a “war on terror” was overwhelming. But we needed to feel like the U.S. was taking action. (Then, Bush announced that we were going into Iraq , and we all said, “Huh?”)
Everything changed that day. It was a Tuesday just like any other, and within minutes, our nation changed. I think that’s what I remember more than anything else- how the mundane turned tragic within instants, and things would never be the same.
What bothers me now is thinking about how ethnocentric we are. When all those men from Seal Team Six were killed recently, my dad commented that it was awful, but that during WWII, a hundreds of men were killed daily. And then I thought about the great losses of life in other countries, where there is genocide and starvation, and how these tragedies are happening all the time and we’re not even aware. This felt real because it was so close to home, and it helps me to remember that deaths in other places aren’t just numbers, they’re people, just like the people we lost here.
Comments