My 6:00 am alarm went off at 5:53 am as usual. I always set my bedside clock five - seven minutes ahead so I won't be late. The radio was set to KTAR as usual because I was and am a total news junkie. It was a few minutes before the top-of-the-hour newscast and Ned Foster was discussing a small plane that had hit the World Trade Center in New York City. Never one to pass up an exciting story, I clicked on the bedroom TV to MNSBC (this was before they proclaimed their liberal agenda).
Sure enough, there it was, smoke pouring from the upper floors of one of the towers. I woke up Dan and we started debating if this was a small plane, a large plane, deliberate, an accident? Then, I watched in horror as another plane veered into the shot and into the other tower. The explosion was immediate. Fire. Bright reds, oranges, and yellows. Thick black smoke. It looked like a fireworks display had detonated out the sides of the building. I said, "whoa, that wasn't a small plane, that was a commercial jet." Our debate over the first strike was resolved in a few seconds. Large plane. Deliberate.
The thought "we're under attack" was immediate and real as well as unbelievable and surreal. My first thoughts went to my daughter Jessica who was away at her first year at UofA in Tucson. "What does a war in the United States look like?" "Are we safe?" "How will I get my daughter home?" "Do I go to work today?" My thoughts quickly turned to my friend whose husband was out of town. He works in law enforcement and was on an undercover assignment. I figured he would be called back to his home office. I called her, woke her up and told her to turn on the TV.
The extraordinary thing about that moment is that life went on as usual in my house. I got the kids up. I had every TV in the house turned to the cable news channels, but that wasn't that unusual for me. I explained what had happened and assured them that "yes, they still had to go to school". I got ready for work. The only unusual event was that I grabbed my camping TV to take to work with me so I could stay up to date. By the time I got everyone to school the Pentagon had been hit. Flight 93 was missing. I was sort of in shock and sort of thinking this was a dream and sort of convinced this was really bad. The worst event, the worst disaster to occur in my life up to that moment.
At work I plugged in my little black and white and watched the drama, the horror continue to unfold. The replaying of the jumpers. The replaying of each tower collapse. The replaying of the Pentagon in flames. The replaying of a black scar on the earth in Pennsylvania. I kept track of the President's whereabouts. The Vice-President's whereabouts. The Secretary of State's whereabouts. I watched the celebrations in Palestine. I watched the weeping in the United States. I was exhausted by the end of that work day. I doubt I got any work accomplished.
Driving home, the tone of the newscasters on the radio had switched from shock to indignation that we would be considered vulnerable to defiance that we could be defeated. The name Osama Bin Laden was already being bandied about as the mastermind to this event.
That night at dinner we discussed the attacks. Talked about what the next few days might bring. Explained that the country was at war, declared or not. We watched the President address the nation and then I settled down to watch the human interest stories already being aired on MSNBC, CNN, and Fox News. I cried as I watched the pictures of the missing go up on fences, walls, lamp posts, and buildings around New York City. I cried at the look of shock, despair and horror on the faces of the family members.
I watched far too late into the night and then reluctantly went to bed to try to sleep for a few hours.
On Wednesday, September 12, 2001 I awoke to the sound of my 6:00 am alarm going off at 5:53 am. I heard the voice of Ned Foster on KTAR talking about the overnight developments. I set about my day in the new normal of life in the United States of America. The post-9/11 life that continues today.
Yes, I remember so clearly. I can add to your story that I was 9 mo prego and wondering what kind of a world we were bringing another child into.
ReplyDeleteNow that we have a friend that lived and worked right now there by the twin towns I have another perspective to 9/11. Life goes on for most of us but many will never be the same again.