September 11, 2001, it changed our world, and I was in bed. It was my freshman year of college, I was away from home for the first time, and my roommate had an early class. I normally slept until she had showered, had gotten ready for the day and headed out the door. She was always courteously quiet, except that Tuesday morning. Those were the mornings she had an early class...Tuesdays. She came out of the bathroom and made a somewhat hurried and loud announcement, "Meghan and Rosa have the t.v. on." "And you are telling me this why?" I thought...She answered my question before I vocalized it..."something must be wrong."
Sure enough, the hurried and disorganized way that I woke up that day was indicitave of how the rest of the day would proceed. Though it didn't feel so hurried, it felt like things were in slow motion, but most definitely disorganized. We watched the reports of the Twin Towers smouldering and it felt unreal. She had a friend that was flying back east that same morning...the phone calls began. The information was so spotty, scattered, and incomplete. Where had the planes come from? Where had they been destined for? Why is this happening? Is it just a dream or a War of the Worlds event? Who would do this?
Sadly, as the day wore on the realization hit. Our world, our society, our lives, they had been changed that morning. With four of the worlds thousands of planes, our way of life had been rocked. I went to class, I think. All I recall from that day is dazed looks, speechless people, and a small college campus 3000 miles away in shock. There were televisions on everywhere, all of the channels repeating the horrifying moments of the planes impacts into the buildings. More reports of a plane hitting the Pentagon, another crashing in Pennsylvania. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.
Sometime midday I couldn't do it anymore, I was glued to the t.v. but couldn't continue watching it. It took me minutes to turn it off. Why do we always gravitate toward disaster, tragedy? I needed something besides screaming people, burning buildings, people jumping out of those buildings, planes crashing as fireballs inside places they shouldn't be. Towers collapsed that day. Hearts collapsed that day. By nightfall we were bombing someone, doing the same thing to another country and its people that had been done to us, mere hours before. I tried to keep the coverage turned off, I feared that I would see these images in my sleep.
I don't remember my sleep that night. There are few things I remember from that dreadful day, and the days that followed. And the things I recall are the oddest things...trying to call home and hearing, "all circuts are busy, please try again later." I only heard that once and the busy signal lots, but I remember thinking that all circuts should not be busy, people were trying to reach loved ones. I remember when I finally dialed my grandparents number and it rang. My grandmother answered the phone and couldn't talk, my grandfather had had a bloody nose. When he had a bloody nose, it was a big deal, I knew, I'd been there to clean up after one. I remember hanging up the phone and visualizing the mess, sort of glad I wasn't there, but also wishing I was near those I loved and those who loved me. Plus, then I'd have something else to focus on.
I remember how quiet campus was, you see, the summer before I started college the airport had built and started using a new runway. This caused planes to fly in low, right over my campus and when a plane was above, you couldn't hear anything, not even yourself thinking, or talking. It was eerily quiet. I remember what seemed like weeks later when US airspace was reopened for commercial flights and the noise that came along with that. It seemed to shatter the calm that the country, or at least our campus had sunk into. I remember that my dad and I had planned that I would fly home at Thanksgiving to surprise my mom and I still bought a plane ticket, even before planes were flying again.
I remember going with my roommate to the gas station that night. Threats of the unknown were everywhere and no one knew what to do. Were the next targets gas stations, man made bombs that were strategically placed all over cities? We waited in line at the gas station, the next day gas prices went up almost a whole dollar, a big jump just overnight. Would they go up more? On the way to the gas station there were people spilling out of churches, candles lit, people seeking comfort, solace, questioning where we were headed and praying for all those involved.
I remember later, after all the fires had been extinguished and the body searching began. Every day there were new numbers, more speculations, more bombing in other parts of the world, and sadness in mine. I remember my body tensing as I passed armed, guns at the ready, guardsmen walking within feet of me at the SLC airport when I did fly home in November. This was not natural, this wasn't comfortable. We would probably never return to that.
Much later, 3 years and a couple months, I remember my first and so far only experience with Ground Zero in person. Holly and I were visiting Mary for Thanksgiving. She was at school at Concordia-Bronxville, just north of the city. Neither of us had ever been to NYC, and we couldn't make a trip to the city and not see the site. Thanksgiving day would be the day. How fitting? A time to reflect and be thankful. Thankful that we had lived to see this day. Thankful that more weren't killed. Thankful.
We were at Times Square for the parade and afterwards headed toward the site. It had been a beautiful sunny morning, one of those crisp, clear, fall mornings that I love. As people were mass exiting the parade area, we were going in the opposite direction. We made our way to the subway and headed underground. When we neared our stop a quiet had overtaken us. We started up the stairs and as we emerged we found ourselves in another world. The sun was no longer out and had been replaced with sharp, icy, dagger-like rain drops. It was pouring, absolutely pouring. Even more fitting for the somber experience.
We made our way to the site. I still, to this day can't fathom those two buildings being there. It felt like such a small, but vastly large space. I tried to envision the tops, or where they would be if the buildings were still in one piece. How high would they have reached up into the sky? I couldn't picture it. I can't picture it. How would I feel about this place if I had seen the buildings intact?
There were barracades placed all around the area, made it difficult to see some of the space. By this time all the debris had been cleared and there was this vast, dreary pit. There was building going on, trying to start over, not forget, but also not be reminded in this way. The plans were to build a "Freedom Tower" dedicated to the memory of all those who had lost their lives and as a symbol of where we were headed. It appeared to be a grand plan. Since that time the building has been renamed, and plans altered several times. I don't know what the finished product, that will be known as "One Trade Center", will look like. My dream and hope is to see it in its completeness, to never forget those who died.
There were momentos placed all over, flags that had been signed by rescuers from that day and the weeks and months following, people being quiet and reflective, people weeping, hugging, pelting rain and a quiet like no other that I have ever heard.
We didn't talk much during our time at the site, it was seemingly sacred ground. A place of such loss, a place of such hope, a place that had changed our world. And I remembered exactly where I had been, and what I had been doing when I heard the news.
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Ice sculpture by Darlene Racicot, Ontario Canada.
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