My 9/11
It’s so hard to believe that this story has been brewing inside of me for 20 years. I woke up on that beautiful clear, sunny Tuesday morning of September 11th of 2011 as a full-time teacher and an overwhelmed mom of 9-year-old twins. I got dressed as I anticipated a very busy day of school, one after-school appointment, and then homework with the twins.
Seared into my memory was what I wore that day, a red suit with a black windowpane design. I remember feeling that I was hoping that I would have the energy to get through another long day of teaching and being a mom. I made sure that the kids were up and getting ready for school and that my husband was ready to finish up on the morning routine.
I arrived at school early, as was my custom, so that I could settle into my classroom and gather my thoughts for the day. I often had students stop by to chat or share their concerns and/or problems with me. It was nice to know that they felt comfortable talking to me. It was one of my favorite times of my workday.
I started my first class with my usual enthusiasm. As the class drew to a close, I opened my classroom door and secured it so the students could leave when the bell rang. At that moment, a colleague of mine who had planning first hour and had been able to watch the news, came up to me and told me that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center. My first thoughts were “Wow, what a bad pilot!”. How naïve I was, and we all were that fateful day.
The next thing that I remember was being told that we would hold first period class a little longer. So, I told my students that there had been an accident in New York City. I turned on the TV, as they instructed us to do by intercom, and just as I did, the second plane hit the World Trade Center. The students looked worried and nervous. We discussed the possibility of terrorism. Some had family in New York City and this situation was very personal to them. I reassured my students that we were all safe. After all, we were in Coral Springs, Florida. Why would terrorists be interested in our small city? I felt the tension mounting as students were asking to go to the restroom and looking anxious. I told the students that if they needed to call their parents to go ahead and do so.
The class which I was teaching was ironically “Conflict Resolution”. I remember commenting to my class that terrorism or violence often occurs when certain individuals or groups feel unheard or disenfranchised, although terrorism or violence is never justifiable. I even wondered aloud if Ben Laden had something to do with this event.
As I was trying to calm my students, it was announced that the Pentagon had been hit by another plane and that a plane in Pennsylvania had gone down. We were told to turn off our TVs in the classroom. I asked my students if anyone knew anyone living in New York City. Just as we were discussing if anyone knew anyone in this area of NYC, it dawned on me that me that my 73-year-old mother was travelling to NYC to visit a friend that morning. I mentioned it to my students and told them that I would call at the end of class. They responded with “No, Miss, you need to call now to make sure your mom is OK!” So, I called my father who was at home. He was a WWII veteran and suffering from PTSD. I asked if Mom was on the plane to New York City. He was crying and going into a “melt-down”. Dad told me that my mom had not gotten on the plane and that they had evacuated the airport in West Palm Beach and that my brother was bringing her home. My father kept repeating “They got the Pentagon!”, while sobbing. I offered to leave school and stay with him until mom got home but he said that he would be OK. I can’t imagine what this experience was like for him.
Next, I made a quick call to my husband, who had been suffering with anxiety, prior to this event, to make sure that he was alright and to ask him if he wanted to pick up the twins from school. He seemed fine and we decided that it was best to follow routine and keep our children in school. I knew that their teacher would keep them calm and not discuss the situation since they were in elementary school.
Finally, the bell rang, and we continued with classes for the rest of the day, although everyone was distracted. The students had lots of questions and I had no answers. My only job was to keep them safe and make them feel secure.
After dismissal, I left school and was greeted by the heavy, still air of sadness, which I can remember to this day. I can still feel it. It was as if everything and everyone was moving in slow motion. Cars were moving along the road with their headlights on in a show of some sort of solidarity.
I called our babysitter/homework helper and instructed her not to turn on the TV except for cartoons after our kids finished their homework. I wanted to talk to them about what happened in a way to make them aware of this historical event but not alarm them.
I arrived at the multi-story building where I had my after-school appointment, and the doors were locked. A couple of people stood outside. We looked at each other and compared what we knew about the events of the day. We looked at each other like we wanted to do a group hug, although we did not. All multi-story buildings were closed for the day.
Now, I just wanted to go home and hug the twins and feel safe at home, but safety is truly an allusion. Later, I would learn the terrorists were operating out of Coral Springs and that Mohammed Atta was a member of my health club where I exercised regularly.
In the following weeks, no one looked at others in the same way, especially men with beards or foreign looking people. I remember purses and backpacks being searched at most public places. The America from my youth was gone
According to brain research, traumatic events are stored deep within the brain. I am shocked at how many details I remember from that pivotal day which changed our country and the world forever. It was amazing to hear the countless stories of heroism and people helping each other during this crisis. As I recall this day, 20 years later, I relive the grief and devastation but also remember how united we all felt that day. I am left with this question in my mind, “Why does it take an act of terrorism to make us feel united?”
Please share your 9/11 story with me!
