Skip to main content

Nine Eleven, revisited~






Those of us who lived through the 9/11 attacks...

the World Trade Center,
the Pentagon,
the plane crash in a Pennsylvania field, a sacrificial effort by citizens aboard to avoid the White House

...each have our own story to tell.

I was teaching a captive audience of fifth graders at Hanover Middle School when my classroom door cracked open and a colleague beckoned me to the hall.  In a whisper, she told me a plane had hit the World Trade Center Tower, then cautioned me not to tell the kids.

I walked back into the classroom, dazed, scared, confused, making an attempt to cover the churning emotions, the fear.

Knowing so little...

the first tower had not yet collapsed,
the second plane had not struck,


...it was easy to imagine that this was an all out attack on the country, the beginning of a war on our continent.


In hindsight, it was.

I was with a group of teachers huddled in the library office, staring the dusty TV on its rolling cart, watching the scene unfold. We stood in horrified silence, hands to our mouths, watching the slow motion crumpling of the tower. The only words spoken were, “Oh my God!” Over and over...

 “Oh, my God!”

I was more than 200 miles from the scene. A four-hour drive, at least.  But my heart leapt that distance and I was right there.

We were ALL right there.


Despite the 15 intervening years, I can return to that day instantly; my mind has not forgotten the horror I watched from afar.  I shared the terror and the grief, although it was in no way the same as those who were there on the island...

covered in dust as they tried to flee with no way out but by sea,
choosing to leap to death, rather than burn,
hearing sirens, crashing buildings, screaming people,
seeing bloodied friends...and maybe worse, not seeing someone,

...or for those who lost a loved one. For them, I‘m sure the 15 years dissolve in an instant and memory is still so immediate that it sears their hearts daily.

They can never forget.
Nor can we.
How could we?





Other posts... Memorials


Comments

Wanda said…
Hi Ruth ~Of course I remember you, and the last post you made before you vanished.
I have thought of you from time to time. My blogging has taken spurts. Sometimes I just want to close my computer, and never open it again. Then I miss all my blogger friends or something happens I want to share and I'm back at it.
Also being in the winter season of life... I celebrated 75 on May 1st, I want to spend my time with "what matters most" and that has been family. For the first time in years we live close enough to visit and see our children, grandchildren (10) and great grandsons )(2) Our youngest daughter, Jill is in Oregon so we visit her and our youngest grandson on Skype.

Thanks so much for getting back in touch. Keep me updated on your life and your husband's cancer journey.

Love and Hugs.
Wanda

Popular posts from this blog

For Alice~ She's home!!!!!!!

What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson Sometimes it's all about knowing that loved ones and friends stand behind you, knowing that support is there on the down days, the worry days, the days when you feel off-center, out of sync, bedraggled emotionally, and in pain, but knowing all the while that you're not alone. You're not alone... Alice is an online friend--she lives in Hawaii-- who belongs to the writer's workshop that I do. We've only "met" online, but those who have online friendships know that they can be just as strong as those in-person relationships. Alice was hit by a car while walking, and is in the rehab phase of things. She's working to regain mobility after a broken pelvis, a broken arm, and a broken nose. It's scary to realize how, in the blink of an eye, life can lurch and our plans for a time are displaced by survival and healing. We...

Killing time~

I'd woken feeling stuffy headed, slightly allergy-ish, puffy-eyed, and a tad grumpy. Lots to do, little time in which to do it, school issues keeping me in a state of angst, I considered not going to David's game. But it was Saturday, the game fairly close to home-- Salem State College-- an hour or so north through Boston to the town of Salem, famous for the 1692 witch trials that saw 19 suspected witches, many of them social outcasts, hang on Gallows Hill. A change of pace was what I needed whether I wanted it or not, so I went. I squeezed in a walk around the block that enclosed Salem State's O'Keefe Center while waiting for the game to begin. Just to kill time. I get so few chances to do that. Others walking, too, passed with no eye contact, no greetings, just sharing the same planet. Two were coming toward me. Still unfocused in the distance . . . one was tall, the other short . . . two men . . . loose clothing . . . like army clothes, camouflage . . . beard and lon...

Cancer is the asshole~

Today was the first time in a long, long time that I’ve called Bruce an asshole—and the first time since his cancer diagnosis. How can you call some one with cancer an asshole? After all, cancer patients don’t feel good--they’re dealing with a deadly disease, there are all sorts of worries, frustrations, and side effects and changes to their bodies, quality of life issues... and all the other little quirky symptoms that I only find out about about when Bruce tells his nurse. I’m pretty patient and understanding by nature, and all the more so now when he vents the inevitable “ cancer anger ” a little (or a lot). Today he got impatient and snippy, frustrated that we couldn’t merge our iCalendars—he hates when technology goes awry. Who doesn't? For him, it's one more thing out of his control. He started to tell me what I’d done incorrectly in the attempt to merge, and kept cutting me off when I tried to show him what I did...which, by the way, was corre...