Writing about 9/11 can be a risky business. Especially today, on this most solemn of days, you run the risk of extremes - inadvertently saying something that offends and riles passions (never my intent) or being seen as piling on with nothing original to add to the discussion. I suppose that of the two choices, I'd far rather be seen as boring because I avoid confrontation like the plague.
But my brother-in-law wondered when I was going to post to my blog again because he missed reading my posts. So now seemed like as good a time as any to jump back into the writing game. Yet writing about anything BUT 9/11 today seems to add insult to injury, as if one isn't paying the proper respect to those who lost their lives, and all the survivors still suffering. So I add one small voice to those who speak out, so that collectively, we may never forget.
I must first say that I did not personally know anyone who died on 9/11. My experiences are much more tangential - and for that, I am profoundly grateful. I cannot even imagine the trauma and the heartbreak that others are experiencing. For you, I pray.
The day started like any other work day. I was in the office early, on the upper floors of the Huntington Building in downtown Cleveland. I was on a conference call for some training when we received word that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. The concept of terror never even entered my mind - I simply thought it was a small plane, like a Cessna, and I hoped that it wasn't that big of a deal. I merely wondered what a Cessna was doing in Manhattan, and how it could possibly have flown so off course as to crash into a building.
Then we learned of the second plane, full passenger jets to boot, and I remember being stunned. Simply stunned, as if my brain was incapable of processing the information that America was under attack. I immediately thought of my Ernst & Young colleagues - luckily our offices were not in the WTC, but that did not mean some weren't visiting clients there, or weren't on those planes. I also thought of my high school friend Perry. I knew he worked in Manhattan, but I didn't know exactly where. I figured out from other co-workers that he worked nearby, but not in the WTC. I emailed him, and he said he was okay, though I'm pretty sure he said he saw one of the planes hit.
I remember that the host of the conference call wanted to keep going and I thought she was absolutely insane. Maybe she was under orders to keep things as normal as possible, and that's okay. But I informed her that we were evacuating the building and unfortunately I was going to have to drop off. It seems almost comical to type that, as if I was merely excusing myself from the call to run down the hall for coffee, but that's the way it was at the time. Almost surreal. It was also incredibly unnerving to realize that Cleveland had the tallest buildings between New York and Chicago - would we be next?
I honestly don't remember whether we were allowed to use the elevators, or we took the steps down to the ground level. I do recall being stuck in a traffic jam to get out of the parking garage and out of downtown Cleveland, though I suppose it could have been much, much worse. However, I'm not sure how much safer I felt at home, because my house was located within minutes of Cleveland Hopkins airport. In fact, something similar was occurring in DC.... I found one of my E&Y colleagues on instant messenger. He said he was in the office and I asked why. He responded that he was safer in the suburban Virginia office than he was at his home, literally a stone's throw from the Pentagon and Washington Reagan Airport. What a helpless feeling that must have been for him ... at least I had the comfort of home to bring a sense of normalcy, even if its proximity to the airport heightened the tension I felt at the time.
The rest of that day is really a blur. I honestly couldn't tell you whether I watched the towers fall live or on replay. With the photographic recall that some have of the day, how is it possible that my mind is playing tricks on me? Was I in a traffic jam or wasn't I? I'm starting to doubt myself, because I would have sworn to you that I sat for at least an hour in traffic to get home AND I saw the towers fall live. However, that timeline doesn't add up.
And I'm almost embarrassed to admit that, because somehow it feels like I'm not doing the day justice if I don't recall what happened every minute. Is it because, while the day was important from an historical perspective, it is not of personal significance to me since I did not experience the events myself, or lose a loved one that day? I still think I can pay my respects to those who lost their lives while admitting that the day was not one of the most momentous in my own life, can't I?
I think I might also be afraid to let the day in any further than it has penetrated thus far. I already feel others' hardships to a degree that can become detrimental to me. My life might be peachy, thanks, but if a family member is experiencing something traumatic, I will take on their pain psychologically. I will lose sleep with worry and become distracted at work, among other symptoms. Some may simply think I have a heightened sense of empathy, but when it begins to interfere with my own life, then I think greater boundaries need to be drawn.
I think I have mentally drawn a boundary around 9/11 - I don't want to delve too deeply for fear I may never climb out. Yes, I respect and honor the day, along with so many other Americans. Yes, I mourn those who lost their lives - from those on the planes, to those in the buildings, to the first responders, the military personnel, and more. But I'm also afraid of the pain .... so many thousands of lives, each with their very own story. When I listen to a mother recalling the last conversation she had with her daughter, I am moved to tears. When I learn of the priests hearing the confessions of the firefighters before they are running into the burning buildings, I am moved to tears (even now, as I type it). I feel helpless. I cannot save them. I cannot even comfort them, strangers that they are to me.
Yet maybe I should just embrace it all ... the pain and helplessness that I feel are nothing compared to the feelings of those who are so many degrees closer to those actual events. I am a mere bystander in the day ... who am I to avoid the pain? I should be stronger than that, though I don't quite know how.
When I finally arrived home on that fateful day, I simply sat on the couch hugging a pillow and cried. I could not turn away from the haunting images I saw on TV, though I desperately wanted to. I knew we were in the middle of a moment of collective consciousness, yet I felt profoundly alone.
I know, despite my unwillingness to immerse myself in 9/11, that I will never forget. My safe little world, or rather, my mistaken perception of the world as safe, was shattered forever. I remember being nervous about long-distance plane travel even within the US; I remember some trying to talk us out of going to Europe on our honeymoon in case of terrorist activity; I know that others are very nervous about our future trip to the 2012 Olympics, as it could be a terrorist target. But the truth is, anything could be a terrorist target. While I don't subscribe to recklessly putting myself in harm's way when prudence demands otherwise, I do subscribe to the notion that I have to live my life. That is how I can add my one small voice to the chorus shouting "no". We will not stop truly living in an effort to merely live.
I pray to God, and to St. Francis to intercede, for peace - for the souls in heaven, for the survivors on earth, and for all of mankind to find a way to live in harmony.
