September 11th – What I Remember Now . . . and Always Will
Yes, I remember.
I remember being at a meeting at my daughters’ school, as the principal came into the room to tell us that a plane had “lost control and hit one of the World Trade Center buildings.” We rescheduled the meeting, feeling unnerved.
I walked home, very quickly, hearing bits of conversations people were having in the streets about “terrorists,” “suicides,” “President Bush,” and on and on. Without realizing it, I started running.
I remember trying to call my husband, who was on his way to the World Trade Center for a meeting, but no calls were getting through. The lines were overwhelmed.
I remember getting home, putting on the television in time to see the second plane hit the South Tower. My husband called me. He was just reaching the area in a taxi when he saw the second plane hit. Miraculously, the driver was able to turn the car around and leave the area.
My husband went to our daughters’ school to take them home.
I remember having to pull myself together, after having been on my knees staring at the television, at the carnage, at the impossible sight of an airplane sticking out of the World Trade Center. This couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not in America. Not here in New York City. Not a few miles from my home. Not anywhere.
I remember my husband coming home with the girls–not quite 4 and 8 at the time–ashen-faced from what he had just gone through, trying to look calm to protect our daughters. I made them a snack, and put them in front of the television so they could watch a DVD. They knew something big was happening, but we weren’t ready to discuss it with them, because we didn’t even know what was happening.
I remember going into my office with my husband, closing the door, watching as the South Tower started to collapse, at almost 10:00am. An impossible sight. Not possible. Sitting on the floor, holding my knees, and rocking myself back and forth, praying for comfort that wouldn’t come, sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, uncontrollably. There were no words we could say to each other. No words.
I remember it all being a blur, watching the television, trying to call people, trying to wrap my head around what was happening.
I remember going into the bathroom to wash my face with cold water, and calm down, so I could check on the girls, and to especially make sure they were watching Pocahontas, not the coverage of the attack. Just at that moment, I watched the North Tower collapse.
I remember looking at Howard and seeing him go white. In that one moment, he and I both realized how close he had come to being in the World Trade Center. He had been running late that morning.
I remember sitting down with the girls, trying to explain what happened, that the President and our government and the police were working to make sure we were safe, and that they were going to get the bad guys.
I remember watching from my window, the plumes of smoke emanating from downtown.
I remember feeling the need to be outside, to see other New Yorkers, to be with them. We took the girls to Carl Schurz Park, near the East River, to distract them.
I remember the stench that was coming from downtown, blowing toward us in the wind. As the adults sat on benches in the park, shaken, red-eyed, but trying to look calm for the kids that were playing around us, we tried not to cry.
I remember the days and weeks afterward, the memorial services, the concerts, the reports, the analyses. It all made sense. And yet, none of it made any sense at all.
I remember the anger.
I remember the deep, gut-wrenching sorrow.
I remember my four-year old daughter’s teacher calling to say that Elizabeth repeatedly built towers with blocks, and then, with one swipe of her hand, knocked them down. Over and over.
I remember how my 8-year old could not be comforted at bedtime, and would come into our room almost every night . . . for years.
I remember there was a fire in the building across the street from us a few months after 9-11 and how my older daughter screamed and could not be consoled. For months afterward she would panic if she heard a siren.
I remember my husband taking Sarah to visit Fireman Tony–one of the fortunate survivors of 9-11–from our local fire department. Fireman Tony told Sarah that it was a good thing when she heard a siren because that means that a police officer, or fireman, or doctor was on his or her way to save someone. And, Fireman Tony also assured Sarah that he was there, just two blocks away, to protect her and her family. Sarah stopped panicking when she heard a siren starting that night.
I remember reading “The Looming Tower” by Lawrence Wright, to try to make sense of why this could happen. It’s the closest explanation there is to what led up to this point, bar none.
I remember knowing that our lives as Americans were changed forever.
I remember knowing that there is grief in my heart that will never go away.
I remember knowing that we can never let that grief change how we live our lives.
I remember that 9-11-01 introduced one of the darkest periods of our country’s history, including wars we should not be in.
On the 11th Anniversary of 9-11, we will do what we always do: honor the memories of all those who perished. We will visit our local fire department, bringing flowers in honor of those we lost, and cookies for those who carry on. We will respect the moments of silence at 8:46am and 9:03am.
And, we will cry.
images | Noam Galai, 9/11 Memorial
Beautifully moving Barbara.
Thank you for sharing your experience from that horrific day, Barbara! Perfectly expressed, as always. I’m sure the love and attention that your children felt from you and your husband, helped them heal and move on with respect and compassion for their home and their country! Bless you all……
Love , Georgie
Thank you Barbara.
I remember going to pre-school with my 4 year old daughter to meet her teachers that morning. They pulled me aside and told me that a small plane had accidentally hit one of the towers. I remember the very blue sky and puffy white clouds. I remember the black plume of smoke. I remember my apartment filling with friends and workers that lived outside the city and couldn’t get home. I remember a sky free of planes, other than military, for the next many evenings…a black sky. I remember going to jury duty in November and seeing every window covered with ashes. The shard of metal was still standing in the ground. Nothing had been touched.
We bake cookies for our local fire department every year. There is a plaque outside the fire department remembering those lost. I think of how many have been lost in the name of 9-11 without grand recognition and I understand how difficult this day is for them too.
Your story is truly heartfelt. It reminds me to remember what is really important in life. Thank you for expressing your experience so eloquently.
I remember getting off the highway, turning the radio on after the taped book I’d been listening to ended, and wondering why Bryant Gumbal was on the local news station. I remember walking into the building and finding everyone watching TV. And the towers coming down. And the phone call telling me that someone I knew had been on one of the planes. And then rushing to get home before my kids did, so that I could tell them before someone else did.
My mother-in-law’s funeral was the day before so my sister-in-law and her husband were with us instead of her working on Capitol Hill – they could not get back home for a week. A friend shared the following with me and wanted to share it with others –
Here is an amazing story from a flight attendant on Delta Flight 15, written
following 9-11:
“On the morning of Tuesday, September 11, we were about 5 hours out of
Frankfurt, flying over the North Atlantic . All of a sudden the curtains
parted and I was told to go to the cockpit, immediately, to see the captain.
As soon as I got there I noticed that the crew had that “All Business” look
on their faces. The captain handed me a printed message. It was from Delta’s
main office in Atlanta and simply read, “All airways over the Continental
United States are closed to commercial air traffic. Land ASAP at the nearest
airport. Advise your destination.”
“No one said a word about what this could mean. We knew it was a serious
situation and we needed to find terra firma quickly. The captain determined
that the nearest airport was 400 miles behind us in Gander , New Foundland.
He requested approval for a route change from the Canadian traffic
controller and approval was granted immediately–no questions asked. We
found out later, of course, why there was no hesitation in approving our
request.
“While the flight crew prepared the airplane for landing, another message
arrived from Atlanta telling us about some terrorist activity in the New
York area. A few minutes later word came in about the hijackings.
“We decided to LIE to the passengers while we were still in the air. We told
them the plane had a simple instrument problem and that we needed to land at
the nearest airport in Gander , New Foundland to have it checked out.
“We promised to give more information after landing in Gander . There was
much grumbling among the passengers, but that’s nothing new! Forty minutes
later, we landed in Gander . Local time at Gander was 12:30 PM! …. that’s
11:00 AM EST.
“There were already about 20 other airplanes on the ground from all over the
world that had taken this detour on their way to the U.S. After we parked
on the ramp, the captain made the following announcement: “Ladies and
gentlemen, you must be wondering if all these airplanes around us have the
same instrument problem as we have. The reality is that we are here for
another reason.” Then he went on to explain the little bit we knew about the
situation in the U.S. There were loud gasps and stares of disbelief. The
captain informed passengers that Ground control in Gander told us to stay
put.
“The Canadian Government was in charge of our situation and no one was
allowed to get off the aircraft. No one on the ground was allowed to come
near any of the air crafts. Only airport police would come around
periodically, look us over and go on to the next airplane. In the next hour
or so more planes landed and Gander ended up with 53 airplanes from all over
the world, 27 of which were U.S. commercial jets.
“Meanwhile, bits of news started to come in over the aircraft radio and for
the first time we learned that airplanes were flown into the World Trade
Center in New York and into the Pentagon in DC. People were trying to use
their cell phones, but were unable to connect due to a different cell system
in Canada . Some did get through, but were only able to get to the Canadian
operator who would tell them that the lines to the U.S. were either blocked
or jammed.
“Sometime in the evening the news filtered to us that the World Trade Center
buildings had collapsed and that a fourth hijacking had resulted in a crash.
By now the passengers were emotionally and physically exhausted, not to
mention frightened, but everyone stayed amazingly calm. We had only to look
out the window at the 52 other stranded aircraft to realize that we were not
the only ones in this predicament.
“We had been told earlier that they would be allowing people off the planes
one plane at a time. At 6 PM, Gander airport told us that our turn to
deplane would be 11 am the next morning. Passengers were not happy, but they
simply resigned themselves to this news without much noise and started to
prepare themselves to spend the night on the airplane.
” Gander had promised us medical attention, if needed, water, and lavatory
servicing. And they were true to their word. Fortunately we had no medical
situations to worry about. We did have a young lady who was 33 weeks into
her pregnancy. We took REALLY good care of her. The night passed without
incident despite the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements.
“About 10:30 on the morning of the 12th a convoy of school buses showed up.
We got off the plane and were taken to the terminal where we went through
Immigration and Customs and then had to register with the Red Cross.
“After that we (the crew) were separated from the passengers and were taken
in vans to a small hotel. We had no idea where our passengers were going. We
learned from the Red Cross that the town of Gander has a population of
10,400 people and they had about 10,500 passengers to take care of from all
the airplanes that were forced into Gander ! We were told to just relax at
the hotel and we would be contacted when the U.S. airports opened again, but
not to expect that call for a while.
“We found out the total scope of the terror back home only after getting to
our hotel and turning on the TV, 24 hours after it all started.
“Meanwhile, we had lots of time on our hands and found that the people of
Gander were extremely friendly. They started calling us the “plane people.”
We enjoyed their hospitality, explored the town of Gander and ended up
having a pretty good time.
“Two days later, we got that call and were taken back to the Gander airport.
Back on the plane, we were reunited with the passengers and found out what
they had been doing for the past two days. What we found out was incredible.
” Gander and all the surrounding communities (within about a 75 Kilometer
radius) had closed all high schools, meeting halls, lodges, and any other
large gathering places. They converted all these facilities to mass lodging
areas for all the stranded travelers. Some had cots set up, some had mats
with sleeping bags and pillows set up.
“ALL the high school students were required to volunteer their time to take
care of the “guests.” Our 218 passengers ended up in a town called
Lewisporte, about 45 kilometers from Gander where they were put up in a high
school. If any women wanted to be in a women-only facility, that was
arranged. Families were kept together. All the elderly passengers were taken
to private homes.
“Remember that young pregnant lady? She was put up in a private home right
across the street from a 24-hour Urgent Care facility. There was a dentist
on call and both male and female nurses remained with the crowd for the
duration.
“Phone calls and e-mails to the U.S. and around the world were available to
everyone once a day. During the day, passengers were offered “Excursion”
trips. Some people went on boat cruises of the lakes and harbors. Some went
for hikes in the local forests. Local bakeries stayed open to make fresh
bread for the guests. Food was prepared by all the residents and brought to
the schools. People were driven to restaurants of their choice and offered
wonderful meals. Everyone was given tokens for local laundry mats to wash
their clothes, since luggage was still on the aircraft. In other words,
every single need was met for those stranded travelers.”Passengers were
crying while telling us these stories. Finally, when they were told that
U.S. airports had reopened, they were delivered to the airport right on time
and without a single passenger missing or late. The local Red Cross had all
the information about the whereabouts of each and every passenger and knew
which plane they needed to be on and when all the planes were leaving. They
coordinated everything beautifully. It was absolutely incredible.
“When passengers came on board, it was like they had been on a cruise.
Everyone knew each other by name. They were swapping stories of their stay,
impressing each other with who had the better time. Our flight back to
Atlanta looked li ke a chartered party flight. The crew just stayed out of
their way. It was mind-boggling. Passengers had totally bonded and were
calling each other by their first names, exchanging phone numbers,
addresses, and email addresses.
“And then a very unusual thing happened. One of our passengers approached me
and asked if he could make an announcement over the PA system. We never,
ever allow that. But this time was different. I said “of course” and handed
him the mike. He picked up the PA and reminded everyone about what they had
just gone through in the last few days. He reminded them of the hospitality
they had received at the hands of total strangers. He continued by saying
that he would like to do something in return for the good folks of
Lewisporte.
“He said he was going to set up a Trust Fund under the name of DELTA 15 (our
flight number). The purpose of the trust fund is to provide college
scholarships for the high school students of Lewisporte. He asked for
donations of any amount from his fellow travelers. When the paper with
donations got back to us with the amounts, names, phone numbers and
addresses, the total was for more than $14,000!
“The gentleman, a MD from Virginia , promised to match the donations and to
start the administrative work on the scholarship. He also said that he would
forward this proposal to Delta Corporate and ask them to donate as well. As
I write this account, the trust fund is at more than $1.5 million and has
assisted 134 students in college education.
“I just wanted to share this story because we need good stories right now.
It gives me a little bit of hope to know that some people in a far away
place were kind to some strangers who literally dropped in on them. It
reminds me how much good there is in the world.”
“In spite of all the rotten things we see going on in today’s world this
story confirms that there are still a lot of good and Godly people in the
world and when things get bad, they will come forward. “God Bless
America …and the Canadians.”
Hi Fay,
it is 2:20 am in NY and I can’t sleep. I just read every word of your marvelous account and it warmed my heart. Thank you for sharing it with us.
Fondly,
Geri Brin
Thank you Fay, and everyone, for your amazing comments and stories. No matter where we were that day . . . none of us will ever forget.
With love and appreciation,
Barbara
Thank you so much for sharing this. I know there were some incredible stories that came out of the 9/11 disaster, and this is one of the most beautiful. I have one of my own special memories. That morning a friend called me knowing I never watch TV and told me to get online and see what was happening. I thought she’d lost her mind, babbling hysterically about planes and terrorists. I logged into a news channel and was dumbfounded at the horror taking place before my eyes. As I watched I suddenly remembered that my dearest friends in all the world were returning from their European trip to become engaged that morning on a United Airlines flight into New York. I didn’t know ETA or flight number and my hands were shaking as I dialed my friend’s office number to ask his assistant if she knew. She did, and it was thankfully NOT one of those planes. In fact their plane would have landed two hours later, but they were diverted to Canada with the now familiar “little mechanical or electronics problem”. They were not informed where they would be landing, just a different airport. So when it seemed they were setting down almost nowhere, they were mystified until once on the ground people began using their cell phones and learned what had happened. They were stranded there for a week and experienced much the same hospitality and good will described above. Even had there been cars available to rent they wouldn’t have been allowed across the closed border, so all they could do was relax and be thankful they were there and alive. This all is especially meaningful to me because these wonderful friends have been MY lifesavers in a time of dire need. We will NEVER forget what a roulette wheel we live on, and we will ALWAYS have the greatest sympathy for those who weren’t so fortunate.
Thank you Fay, for the flight attendant’s story. I have wondered what people in the non-hijacked planes were told when the U.S. closed airspace that day. I remember asking that question on a news message board a few days later, and about half the people who responded said that the pilot made up some story and the other half said he/she told the brutal truth. I have thought about what I, as a passenger, would have preferred — and hands down, it would have been to hear a lie like the minor instrument problem. I am already a very anxious flyer.
Barbara, I appreciate your account, as well. I was particularly interested in the fact that you and your husband tried to remain calm in front of your daughters. I am a journalist who once interviewed Wes Craven, the horror movie director, and I asked him what scared kids more than anything. He said “Adults out of control.”
This really hit home for me, because one of my most traumatic childhood memories was what happened the day JFK was assassinated. I was 7 and in second grade. When the principal came to the playground during recess and announced what had happened, I started crying. I didn’t cry because the president was dead — I was too young to absorb the seriousness of that. I cried out of terror at seeing many of the teachers acting nuts. They were running around, crying, screaming, even collapsing to the ground in a heap. We were then told to run home — which I wasted no time in doing.
My daughter was 13 on 9/11. We are in California but both of us were up early that day, so we saw the second plane hit on TV when it actually happened. I know my voice was strained when I talked to my daughter that morning. But I saved my tears of rage and sorrow till I got on the freeway. I noticed lots of other people doing the same thing in the cars around me.