Like so many millions of people today, I remember, only too vividly, the horror of September 11, 2001. In the ensuing days, weeks, months and years it has become an historical footnote to so many who weren’t born when it happened. In a phone discussion with my middle daughter last night, I recounted so many details that came back to me. She was 9 years old when it happened, my youngest 6 and my husband had just been medically retired (just 3 days prior) from his position with the Air Force as a civilian employee who was also a reservist.
He was sleeping in, the girls were having breakfast at the kitchen table before going to school and, in a rare move for me, I had the small television in the kitchen turned on so the girls could watch it while eating breakfast. This was rare in that they tended to dawdle with breakfast if the TV was on. But for some reason, I had it on. There was a break in the cartoons they were watching, showing a news story about the Twin Towers, and I immediately switched channels (much to my daughters’ chagrin), to see if there was other news reports.
There were indeed, many more news reports. I ran to wake up my husband and the two of us, like the rest of the world, became glued to our TV’s. Horrified, stunned, sickened, so often the tears flowed without my even knowing it; yet we simply couldn’t tear ourselves away from what we were seeing. As the day wore on, all the TV’s in the house were on different channels and we continually changed the ones they were on, trying to glean whatever bits of new information we could.