It was early.
It was not yet seven o'clock yet. Early for a pregnant momma of four kids. But Joe Cool, an early riser even then, had gotten me up. He was not yet two years old. The other kids were still asleep and I wanted to keep it that way; he and I were still both sleepy, so we turned on the TV to check out PBS.
It wasn't Barney or Sesame Street though. What we saw was Breaking News on every channel. The first plane had already crashed, the news cameras were fixed on the smoking 1st Tower. They were reporting that a small airplane had perhaps accidentally crashed into the tower. And then as we sat there watching the live-feed of smoke billowing from the 1st Tower, the second plane hit Tower 2.
What was that??!!
Moments later it became all too clear, this was no accident.
What in the world is going on?
Then there was news from the Pentagon and the news that perhaps the White House and Capital Hill might not be safe. And news of Flight 93. The United States of America was under attack.
It was scary. The day seemed gray and somehow cold. And I felt vunerable even though we were miles and miles away from the attack. I wanted to talk to Pastomac, to hear his voice. But he was already at work. I would have to wait until he called me on his break.
I was transfixed, glued to the TV. I couldn't stop watching, couldn't wrap my mind around the magnitude of the events that were taking place right before my eyes.
How could this be happening?
I sat there bewildered, watching. And as I watched...unbelieveably the towers fell. In moments there was nothing left but smoke and dust and disbelief.
I was stunned. I couldn't believe it.
All those people...gone.
I don't remember the other children waking up. I know I got them breakfast and did other Motherly things, but I don't remember doing them.
Pastormac had gone to work that day at 4AM that morning, and because he was working at McDonalds (don't ask) I would just have to wait for him to call me when he had a break. It was almost unbearable waiting for his call. I wanted to talk to him. I needed to talk to him. I had to hear his voice, to ask him if he'd heard what had happened, to tell him to hurry home when his shift was over.
And it was a relief when he did come home several hours later. Someone with whom to share the anger, the horror, the terror and the sadness. When he came in he looked tired, weary not just because he had been up since the middle of the night, he was wearing the sadness on his shoulders like a heavy coat.
Even now, when I think about what happened, it boggles my mind. It burdens my soul. It weighs heavy on my heart. How can this be real? But it is.
Our lives, our nation, the world, would never be the same.
6 comments:
How very sad that day was. I am glad I didn't have to face it alone!
I also felt bad that day. I'm not only miles away. I'm oceans away but I still felt. I'm from the Philippines and a filipina but I still did care for that tragic day. I couldn't believe that it was happening too. I couldn't believe that such people can be so cruel to take away innocent lives. Innocent lives who had families that loved them and await for them to come home. How could such kind of people do such kind of cruel thing.
My tribute is up too.
It was absolutely unbelieveable and horrific! And that was on TV. I can't imagine how it was right in New York where it was happening! Thanks for sharing your memories.
Thanks for sharing your memories from that day - I think it helps to reflect like this so we don't forget.
We shared many of the same thoughts and feelings that day. I've posted about this as well.
It was such a tragic day. You shared your memories beautifully and candidly. Thank you!
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