Remembering 9/11/2001

(This was written for my blog Icewind’s Ramblings on 9/11/2006 on the fifth anniversary of that terrible day in our country)  I re-read it again this morning and thought I would re-post it again with a couple of minor changes.

In my generation, which was a generation ago, the question was repeatedly asked, "Where were you when President Kennedy was shot?"

For my generation, there are too many questions with fewer answers. The United States changed directions and suddenly we were in a war called Viet Nam and the loss of this country’s young men’s innocence.  Tragedies and calamities abounded in our collective memories. 

But as with the saying “time heals all wounds” and we proceeded for many years along a course with unclear direction. 

Within this generation the final innocence was taken on September 11, 2001, but seems to have been somewhat faded now as the one question that will be asked again and again is, "Where were you on 9/11?"

At this time of year, that question doesn't even have to be asked.  It has been five years now and we have all aged somewhat and our consciousness changed in our everyday lives and travels.

Something lost, flows through my mind,

That whispers me back to a long ago time.

With visions of how things used to be . . .

Outside, the sky was blue, cloudless, bright with that early fall sunshine that was not too hot on the skin.  A slight breeze ruffled only the tops of the tall trees in the backyard.  Everything looked fresh, clean.  This was in Utah where I was living at the time and had just been laid off from my work on August 31. 

I was returning home from taking my daughter and her friends to school around 7 o’clock that morning Mountain Time (9:00 am Eastern) when I spent a few minutes out in the yard with my dogs, Levi and Casey. 

I went back inside where Charlie Gibson and Diane Sawyer were on Good Morning America, a morning talk show where their easy going banter filled the silence in an otherwise quiet house.  I was in the process of completing several small “honey do” projects while I was out of work.

Then on the television, confusion.

In Charlie Gibson's voice the banter was gone.  Diane Sawyer's voice was replaced by broken sentences, words that were coming out staccato.  Too many broken pauses in between as they were both searching for words, almost any words; for any information that would explain what has just happened.  We all were searching for understanding as I turned to look at the TV screen.

There were no video pictures coming into the studio yet.  Just two lines repeated over and over – “the Vice-President of CNN had seen a plane crashing into the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers.”  His office had a direct view of the World Trade Center.

I flipped furiously to the other channels - NBC, CBS, and CNN.

The first images that replaced the Good Morning America studio scene were aerial shots of the Twin Towers, smoke billowing out of a gaping hole near the top of one of them.

None of the TV channels had any confirmation that a plane had crashed into one of the towers, yet.  The discussion focused on whether there was an explosion in the building or speculation that maybe it was a helicopter or one of those chartered planes had gone off course and struck the building.  They are known to fly low, staying just above the Manhattan skyline, sometimes even seeming to dip in between the buildings.  At this point, there was no thought (at least none that was voiced on television) that it was anything but an accident.

I watched the TV screen taking it all in considering all of the possibilities when I saw another plane entering the screen from the center-right side. My first reaction was, "This is no accident, God we are under attack!  He's too close to the buildings!"  But before I could finish that thought the plane slammed into the other tower.  A huge fireball was coming out of the opposite side followed by an inferno filled with black smoke.

The TV anchors were now repeating what I had saw describing the second plane.  The theory of the pilot's stupidity now dueling with the theory that may be, it was not an accident.  Everything was compounded by the shock and confusion that this was happening twice within the space of a few minutes.

There really was no other way of reporting what was happening.  They had no more information than I did and the pictures were there for everyone to see.

In an instant, we were all changed . . . Innocence died that day.

There were no background file photos, no celebrity fillers.  There was no script.  This was as real as television could get; reality TV firsthand for everyone, played over and over again.

This was not a natural disaster.  This was not a multi-car pile-up on some icy interstate highway.  This now known was a pre-meditated act of war.

This was the story of two planes that came out of the clear blue skies that crisp sunny September morning and crashed into the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers, pillars of American achievement and filled with people from many nationalities and races.

There was a deep sense of foreboding.  You could sense and feel something was not right.  I could not explain what I was seeing on TV, nor were the people that usually are able to explain things could not, did not, explain what I was seeing on TV.

Suddenly without warning, the television screens on all of the channels switched to Washington, DC. Claire Shipman was on TV; mike in hand, her back to the Vice-President's office, plumes of smoke rising from a building behind her.

From one angle, the building behind the Vice-President's office is the White House.  No one was certain what this meant.  Maybe it’s a fire in one of the buildings?  A few minutes later, the connection was very clear.  Another airplane had flown into the side of the Pentagon that faces Arlington.

Still no information on what really was happening.  I don't know, maybe because of the movies, or maybe it is what I (we) was getting used to, maybe getting spoiled even - what with all the news channels, all that information available to us.  The idea has always been that the nation should know what is going on, the images of a Presidents addressing the nation - but I kept thinking, ok, the President will be on any minute.  There will be something or someone at the White House will come on and say what we were waiting to listen to.

Everyone in the studios and in the streets had their two cents to put in.  The confusion continued and everyone except the people I wanted to hear from was yapping on and on.  I was waiting for an answer to a simple question, "What is going on?"

These thoughts rolled through my mind right then.  They were not the result of some post-mortem or dissection of the events that transpired that day.   I realized for the first time that I was looking for something from the government, something other than services or social security programs or budgets, or low interest rates.

The images of David Bloom (1963-2003) - with ash, debris on his hair, his voice hoarse from the cloud of dust and debris, his face gaunt, his eyes red from the dust, from hours of standing on his feet, his back to the falling towers - is the strongest vision in my mind from all the hours of TV coverage everyone watched, compulsively.

The morning continued on . . .

Then came the news of Flight 93 crashing in Pennsylvania.  By this time, the shock was gone.  There was the realization that whatever or whomever this thing was, it was relentless.

Hours, even days later, the stories continued to come across for the world to see.  The different video footage of the day’s activities from almost every conceivable angle was shown again and again. 

Of bodies that were flying out of the windows from both the towers; desperate attempts to escape the fire and heat inside, making that sound hitting the streets far below.  The now famous photo of: “The Falling Man”. This photo captured our imagination of just how horrific this day was for our country and its people with the terrorist attacks.  Of policemen and firemen with dogs risking their own lives to save others' with no thought to their own safety, heroes everyone.  Of Todd Beamer (on Flight 93) and Lisa, the telephone operator who connected him to his pregnant wife, also Lisa, for a final few words before going to meet his death along with the other heroes on the plane.

There were scenes of thousands of people trudging home on foot for hours slowly making their way away from ground zero.  Without consciously realizing it at the time how many firms that worked in both building losing all their employees in a span of minutes.  

Of a six-month old baby waiting for her mother to come home and wailing every time the door opened but the mother did not come.

Of rows and rows of cars waiting at metro stations in New Jersey for their owners to come drive them home.  Many never came.

Of the people who worked at the Pentagon coming home shaken but alive unable to eat for days in the aftermath of the attacks.

Of depression among the people living around the World Trade Center because they are no longer in the shadow of the Twin Towers.  Their view outside their windows and our view of the world inexorably altered that morning.

Our world changed that day . . . Forever . . .

When Innocence died.

These final words here changed from a “West Wing” episode but ring true for us today.

"More than any time in recent history, the world’s destiny is not of our own choosing.  We did not seek, nor did we provoke, an assault on our freedom and our way of life.  We did not expect, nor did we invite, a confrontation with evil.

Yet the true measure of a people's strength is how they rise to master that moment when it does arrive.  Many people were killed in the attack on the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers in New York City.  People were killed by the airplane’s blasts and the resulting collapse of both buildings.  Others were killed or are in critical condition, when after having heard the explosions they ran into the buildings and fire to help get people out.

Ran into the fire.

The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels tonight.  They're our friends, and our countrymen, and our parents, and our children.  The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels.  But every time we think we've measured our capacity to meet a challenge, we look up and we're reminded that that capacity may well be limitless.

This is a time for Worldly heroes.

We will do what is hard.

We will achieve what is great.

This is a time for Worldly heroes, and we reach for the stars."

We will always remember the fallen.

Ice