Remembering September 11th, 2001.

It’s trite, but everyone remembers where they were that morning. My brother and I were eating breakfast at the kitchen table in our house in Mandeville, LA. My dad had just gone out to the car to leave for work when he ran back in to the house and said “Something happened to the World Trade Center” and turned on the television.

That was an awful day. I was lucky – I was homeschooled, so I didn’t have to go through the day oblivious. I was in fifth grade. We didn’t do school that day. We watched the news for a few hours and then had to go pick out some brick pavers for the living room in our new house. On the way there, I listened to Rush for the second time ever. At the house, we watched the news. Everywhere we went, we watched the news.

I remember seeing the towers falling. Everything was covered with that gritty grey dust. I recall trying to both imagine and banish the question from my mind “what’s in that dust?”. People walking across the bridge, packed together as if they thought that the faster they crossed the bridge, the faster they could get back to normal. People with woefully useless surgical masks running, screaming. It was almost ironic – the people who built the world we took for granted, those businessmen with their fitted suits and briefcases, covered in grit, looking like refugees in a third-world country.

There were times when my parents tried to hide some of the really awful things from me. When the images of people jumping from the higher floors came up, they wanted me to leave the room. When the newspeople talked about the handicapped people who couldn’t get out, my soul ripped. That was hard to imagine.

There was confusion and hurt the whole day. It felt like as the towers were hit and fallen, parts of my insides were ripped out. There was a growing hole, larger as each bit of news flowed out of the mouths of awestruck news anchors. The North Tower was hit. Then the South. Next, the Pentagon. The South has fallen. The North has followed. Flight 93 has crashed, apparently headed to the White House.

The day came to a close, but nothing felt real. My brother and I slept in our parents’ room that night. We talked about what had happened. Everyone was wondering “what next?”. As we tried to sleep, the images of the day haunted our thoughts.

Then it was September 12th, and the dawn broke on to a whole new world.

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One Response to “Remembering September 11th, 2001.”

  1. Mike W Says:

    I never be able to forget that day either. Being a Marine, my heart dropped when I saw what was happening. I even contemplated a re-up scenario. My age at the time prevented that. I still had to work that day. Every place I went, we talked about it. I remember telling my boys that whomever is responsible is going to pay. We later found out that it could have been avoided in the so-called Clinton administration.

    Final words today:

    I cannot sit by and watch others just give away what rightfully belongs to the citizens of the USA.

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