I remember...

...exactly where I was on this day, nineteen years ago.

I had flown from NY to LA the day before and was scheduled to speak at a meeting this morning.  As usual when flying east to west, I was up early, television turned to the news.  And, along with much of the world, I watched in stunned disbelief as a plane flew into the World Trade Center.  Your mind goes through a series of denials when confronted with something that is too horrific to comprehend.  Surely I didn't see what I thought I saw.  I called a friend in NYC and we both watched our respective televisions as the second plane hit the second tower.  We had a friend who worked in the twin towers...was she okay?  What was happening?  And why?  Was it an air traffic control problem (we knew it wasn't, but your mind searches for an explanation other than the one that says someone hates us this much).

Reports of other planes and other buildings...and then the images from NYC ...spirals of smoke rolling off the buildings...people plunging from the rooftop...people staggering towards uptown and the bridges, trying to get away...and then at 9:59 am the most horrific thing of all...the South Tower collapses.  By then I was on the phone with my husband and all I could say was "oh my God, oh my God".  10:28 am...the North Tower collapses.  I think my mind had almost shut down by then.  The horror was just too much to process.  I called my parents and my friends, trying to make sure everyone was okay, trying to understand what was happening.

I spent the next 5 days trying to get home, locked in my hotel room, curtains drawn, watching the news as it replayed events over and over and over.  At one point I took a taxi to a church, even though I'm not religious, and just sat in a pew and sobbed.  I spent hours on the phone trying to book a seat home, to no avail since flights were grounded.

Finally, on Sunday, I was able to get on a plane headed to Newark.  The flight was totally full and totally silent.  No one got up from their seats.  No one talked.  Some were quietly crying.  It was a clear day when we arrived and from my seat by the window, I saw my City.  It is an image that will always be burned in my memory.  A gaping hole in the skyline where the trade towers used to stand, flames still shooting into the sky, huge black clouds of smoke hanging over the city like a shroud.  I had a car service picking me up and the driver was middle eastern.  We talked for the entire hour, sharing our grief and horror.  And in his case, the fear that he would be blamed simply because of his religion and ethnicity.  Hubs waiting for me in the driveway...hugging each other as if our lives depended on it.

We went into the City the next week. I had to be there.  As we walked south the debris and ash became thicker and thicker.  Bits of paper, so much ash, and the smoke...oh the smoke.  It burned your throat.  People were silent.  Taxis weren't honking.  And everywhere there were posters with pictures of those who were missing.  We knew by then that there weren't going to be any survivors, but you still held out some thread of hope.  People stopped on the streets to hug police and fire fighters, those who had not perished.  For months afterwards, the sound of bagpipes resonated in the City as services were held for first responders who died that day.  

Our world changed 19 years ago. For some of us, it was a loss of innocence, the realization that evil exists in the world.  For Americans it was the realization that there were people in the world who hated us this much.  The memories still shake me to the core.  I have all the weekly news magazines from that week but I can't look at them.  Maybe one day.  

On this day, be especially kind and loving.

xo
Debbi