I was thinking last night that 9/11/01, for this generation, is somewhat akin to 11/22/63 (JFK's assassination) for previous generations. I remember listening to the adults' stories when I was a child of where they were and what they were doing when JFK was assassinated.
So where were you on 9/11/01? How has that day affected your life?
I didn't lose anyone personally that day, but I was there. FOSHLL and I were in New York on vacation. I was awakened by what I thought was thunder. I reached up and pushed back the curtain to look at the sky. It was a beautiful, cloudless day and so I decided I was imagining things and went back to sleep. We had planned to get up early that day and take the subway down under the WTC and then hop the ferry to the Statue of Liberty. We slept in instead.
I don't even know how to put into words the surreality of that day. So many different emotions, the strongest being a sense of complete aloneness and sorrow for all who were lost and the friends and families they left behind. I felt acutely responsible for my child's life. I feared we were in a war and that worse was yet to come.
We wandered the city for hours and ended up with a crowd of people outside the CBS TV station, watching the coverage on a giant outdoor monitor. FAO Schwarz next door was playing "It's a Small World" and fighter jets were making noisy passes over the city. In Central Park, artists were selling out of pencil sketches of the twin towers.
We were at breakfast the next day and a policeman came in and started yelling, "There's a bomb! Everyone get out!" There was a stampede for the front door and I briefly lost sight of my daughter. It was the longest 30 seconds of my life. I now know what panic in its truest form feels like. I'm usually the one who keeps her cool when everyone else is losing theirs. But not this time. We found a pay phone and I tried to call SixofNine, but I was shaking so badly that it was like one of those dreams where you can't push the right buttons. Finally the call went through and I begged him to tell me what to do, to help me find a way out of there. I couldn't even think for myself anymore, but talking to him calmed me down enough to get through the moment.
The next day, with flights still grounded, FOSHLL and I decided to let Greyhound do the driving for us. After another bomb scare/stampede at the Port Authority terminal, we purchased tickets and were on our way back to Texas. The 36-hour bus ride is a short story all to itself. I still have a piece of art that FOSHLL made out of a Slinky on the trip home.
To all who lost loved ones that day, my thoughts are with you.