The Day After September 11

As I drove my middle and my youngest to school today, I realized that I have done a disservice to my children and to myself.

Time wise, it is a short car ride to school in the morning. Really only extended by a couple of minutes if I happen to hit red lights at the two stop lights I have to go through to get to the school, or if it happens to be raining. Today, it is a hot, humid, clear sky kind of morning. So our only delay was when we hit one red light. It was while we were sitting at the light, that the middle one brought up why there should be a moment of silence at school on September 11. The younger one, sounding perplexed, simply asked, “but why?

I’m going to back up in time a bit . . . 14 years to be exact. 14 years ago the company I worked for offered me an opportunity of a lifetime. I could move from Los Angeles to New York City to work with co-workers I had only talked with on the phone. Chris had one semester left to complete his Master’s in LA. But when I told him about the opportunity, he just smiled and stated the obvious “of course you are going to take the job. When else will you have the opportunity to live and work in NYC?” So we packed up part of our home, drove together across the country, and as I settled into a new city, he flew back to our LA home to finish school.

I only spent one year in New York City. Truly, it was only 11 ½ months. But during that time, I have to tell you, I fell in love with New York City. I really did. People tried to warn me of all the awful things that could happen there. The crime was high, the city is dirty, people are rude, traffic is horrendous, and nobody ever slows down (this last being of great importance to my beach friends from LA). The truth was, yes, the crime was probably high, but there are millions of people living there. Unfortunately not everyone always follows the basic rules of life of treating others with respect. Parts of the city are dirtier than others, as in all cities, but there is also beauty in the architecture of the buildings there, and some amazing parks and gardens that can come as a surprise when you discover them. As for the rude people, there are rude people all over the world. NYC does not stake the only claim for that. But truly, it was the native New Yorkers that I discovered were some of the kindest, most helpful people I have ever met. Especially when I was lost! I could always find someone, especially police officers, to help me get to where I needed to go. As for the traffic and not slowing down, that pretty much is true. That is also why they have a public transportation system. It gets people where they need to go, and usually pretty efficiently, if a bit cramped.

During my time there I met an array of fabulous people. I made friends through church, through work, and even with my landlord. I even discovered high school and college friends that had moved there, but through time and distance had lost touch with. But for obvious reasons (I might have been a bit of a workaholic) it was my co-workers that I spent the most amount of time with. For me, it was like having a big extended family. When I left New York in the summer of 2000, and left my job, I left a part of me there.

August of 2001 was my first trip back to New York after having moved to Virginia. We had just moved from an apartment to a town home, and it felt like we had moved out to the countryside. I was completely discombobulated. Chris asked if I needed a trip to the City to be grounded again. I had to say, I absolutely did! So I called a friend, asked if I could come visit, and oh, by the way, would she mind if I brought an almost walking 10 month old with me to come stay in the City? Being the good person that she is, she said of course, I will meet you at the train station. It was a marvelous trip, and I felt like I was going home. I pushed my oldest in an umbrella stroller all through the City. The two of us saw the sites, ate lunch with friends and co-workers. I wasn’t able to see all of my former co-workers, as some were no longer with the company. I clearly recall the running monologue I had going for my oldest, as we walked through the City . . . “if you are ever lost in the City, look up for the World Trade Center. You can figure out from where it is, what direction you need to go. But no, I will never take you to the top. It’s much to high for me.” When I came back to Virginia a few days later, I felt refreshed. Making connections with friends and being in the City had been good for my soul.

It was that first week of September that my Mom came to visit. Being blessed with wonderful parents and brother, my Mom had come out here to help us get settled into our new home. Dad had already been out to help with the actual move. We had only been there a few weeks, and I knew I wanted to paint two bathrooms, and make some other updates. So she flew across the country to come help, as only my Mom can. I would like to say that we were successful in our painting. However, for one bathroom, we went through 4 different shades of red before I finally liked one, and for the children’s bathroom, the paint literally bubbled off the wall. On September 9, as my Mom and I sat on the bathroom floor, staring at the paint that was peeling off the wall, my Mom suggested that she stay another day so she could help me fix the problem. Seeing as it would cost quite a bit to change the airline ticket, I told her, no, go ahead and head home on September 10 as planned. I would fix the problem later in the week as the baby slept.

On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, it was a gorgeous clear day here in Virginia, as everyone around the world now knows. I woke up as I did any other day, with an expectation of a good day. So much so, that I changed my morning ritual of turning on NPR for the morning news, and as I gave my oldest breakfast, I said, “you know, there is never anything positive on the news anymore. Let’s take a day off from the news, and plan a trip to the park.” It was 9:01 when I called another mom to see if she wanted to go to the park that day. It was when I called her, that I found out the reality I had been living in had been drastically altered.

I learned a lot that day. I learned, or maybe just learned to acknowledge that there is a lot of hate in the world. It’s not something easy to acknowledge. I learned that this country, when faced with an inordinate amount of hate, from somewhere else in the world, can actually be brought together. I learned that we could not have chosen a better community in which to live, as everyone met out front, to check on one another. We all remained outside until late, just talking. Staying connected with humanity. I also learned that one of my former coworkers, a friend, had died when the plane hit the World Trade Center.  

Over time, I admit, I do not think about September 11, 2001 on a daily basis. Life has continued to move forward for those that remain. However, every September it does come to the front of my mind. Usually by September 9 I’m cranky and moody with my family. On September 10 I think about the “What if Mom had changed her plane reservation for September 11?” By September 11, I usually sit down and watch the news coverage of the day, reliving the time, and I end up having an ugly cry.

But this year was different. This year we have faced our own challenges, and so, not quite through conscious thought, I blocked September 11, 2001, from my mind. I thought more about the fact that it was my neighbor’s birthday yesterday. I thought about the fact that I was starting a new adventure as a substitute teacher. I thought about a first baseball game on a larger field for my oldest. I thought about the positives of the day. I never mentioned September 11, 2001 to my children yesterday. On social media sites, I did not linger on the images and notes about that day. I think, somewhere, in the back of my brain, I thought if I didn’t talk about it, I wouldn’t be affected by it again.

So I admit, it came as a shock when my middle one brought up September 11 this morning. It was a kick in the gut, and a reality check, when my youngest asked “but why?” when we spoke about a moment of silence. I could barely get the words from my brain to my mouth, let alone, actually speak them. As we were stopped behind a school bus, as tears started rolling down my cheeks, and my throat began to close, I explained to her about two planes crashing into the World Trade Center in New York, about a plane crashing into the Pentagon in DC, and about a plane that went down in a field in Pennsylvania, because the passengers prevented it from doing much worse. That there were so many innocent lives lost, and so many lives changed forever on that day.  That the September 11 attack on our country, has lead us to be in a war for more years than she has been alive. That having a moment of silence to reflect upon the changes our country has gone through, and the lives that have been lost since that day is so important, lest we forget.

Will my youngest remember what I told her today? Most likely not everything. She is still so young. Will we have more discussions about it in the future? Of that I am certain. Because I know, and now acknowledge, that I will always remember.