I've been drawn to reading a lot of the recaps and profiles and remembrances that have been published in recent days about September 11. I am because it's so fresh in my memory--I remember Doug walking in my office and telling me a plane had hit the WTC and I was emailing about U2 concerts. I remember it being a beautiful day, with clear blue skies and sunshine and perfect weather. I remember I had come from a long weekend of seeing Steve every day. I remember hitting refresh on my browser for ABC News, and I remember seeing that frozen portrait of the New York skyline with the towers and smoke and a plane. And I remember turning on my ancient clock radio and listening to HFS or DC 101 broadcast rumors of car bombs bursting on the mall near the state department or fires in Rosslyn. When all it really was the Pentagon burning, with a woman I knew a victim of the plane flown by the terrorists that caused that destruction. I remember all of us leaving and spilling out into the streets of Washington in a myriad of directions because we knew we had to leave, we knew that there were rumors flying everywhere that another plane was about to come to DC. And it could have been the Capital building or it could have been the White House. We just did not know. All I knew is that we needed to leave. And after the earthquake a couple of weeks ago, I remembered that feeling. But now I had a blackberry.
I remember standing in the hallway next to Jenny and she knew people who had siblings who worked in the WTC. I remember calling Steve and telling him what happened. And I remember dad's email: what is going on in Washington and NY? And I called him and I didn't know what to say, where to go, or what would happen next.
So much of that day is a blur, for so much as it was crystal clear. The walk, gathering with friends, watching TV (ironically those of us in DC didn't see that coverage immediately, we were living it), and then finally eating out at Lauriol that night with tankers in the streets, patrolling the District. Humvees and men carrying guns patrolling the streets like the war on terrorism zone we now lived in. And I remember being scared to sleep that night, because there was no guarantee we would still be standing that next morning.
I remember I wore the same dress I wore when I graduated from college three years earlier, and to this day, I have never worn that dress again. But I will always keep it. I remember emailing friends the next day to assure them that we were okay, that we would just be fine.
And yet...it has been ten years. It's been striking to read profiles of some of the children of the victims and the heroes. They were unborn babies then, or they were in elementary school, or they were just too young to remember. And now it is ten years later, and they are in elementary or high school or college. Some of my colleagues were in middle school. The generational divide is really those who were in school or those of us who were here working on that day a decade ago.
I found the homily that the priest gave for Barbara in my email. He drew parallels between Mary, Our Lady of Sorrows, having to witness her son's crucifixion, and being so helpless to stop it. Just as those survivors were helpless as their loved ones were in the planes and the buildings, some of whom never knew what was coming, and some knew that there was no escaping it.
God bless America this weekend, and God bless all of those who lost a loved one. Do not forget.
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