Nine Eleven

“Where were you on 9-11?” I’ve seen that question multiple times today on social media. This is my generation’s version of, “Where were you when Kennedy was shot?”

I don’t really have a memory of where I was when President Kennedy was assassinated, but I’ve been told I was in the car with my parents and siblings in Dallas making the trip home from visiting our grandparents in east Texas. I can imagine my father frustrated by the traffic, but this is probably just imagination. I make things up for sport.

I do, however, remember vividly the morning of 9-11. My husband traveled for his work at that time and was out of town. I had been away from the house. When I returned home the answering machine was blinking with multiple messages all asking if Frank was okay. I was panicked. Why would all of our friends and relatives be asking this question? Finally one of the messages told me to turn on the television. I did, and didn’t turn it off for days. My husband was fine. His plane was immediately grounded, he was able to rent a car and drive home. That’s my 9-11 story; at least part of it.

The rest of the story isn’t about where we were. The real story is about what happened to our nation on that horrible morning thirteen years ago. We lost our innocence. We lost the way of life we had grown to expect and rely on. We realized we were vulnerable. This realization didn’t hit me until a few weeks later. My memory of 9-11 isn’t centered on my answering machine and television. When I remember 9-11 I remember my first post 9-11 flight a few weeks later. After going through the newly established security checkpoint I locked myself in a bathroom stall and sobbed.

It took going to an airport for a flight for me to see firsthand what we really lost. The seriousness of the ticket agents, leaving my luggage unlocked to be inspected, going to the gate by myself instead of my husband accompanying me and waiting with me until I boarded, and being patted down before being allowed to board the plane. All of this while National Guardsmen stood by with huge guns. Where was I? Is this American? My airport experience is an analogy for life in the United States after September 11, 2001.

They say Americans are resilient, that we all rallied and came together as a nation. We did, but we also gave up part of who we were and we will never get that back.

My memories and feelings about that day are paltry in comparison to what others suffered. Those who lost everything, those who were there, those who responded. All we can do is remember who we once were and move forward. Be kind. Be tolerant. Love.