I’m sure there will be several posts like this today. And I’m going to throw mine out there to join the rest of them.
I know exactly where I was on this day 13 years ago. I was at home, getting ready for my first day of my senior year of college, at the University where I’d just transferred home to from Florida. My mom, a high school teacher, had already left for school, and for some reason, I had the news on while I was getting ready. I never watched the news.
I was stunned as I watched the planes hit the first tower, and then the second. I was in a state of complete shock, not thinking, just moving as I finished getting ready and left the house much earlier than I needed to for my first class. I remember thinking that if they cancelled classes, I would never know it.
I went over to my mom’s school. I had to see her. The world was falling apart. (My own little world at the time, was already crumbling to ruins around me, so the idea that the world was actually falling apart was the most frightening, most overwhelming, most depressing thing.)
While waiting for my mom to finish teaching her first hour class, I hung around the office with the secretary. Everyone was a-buzz with the scary news. What was happening? Who was doing this? What did it mean?
A third plane crashed into the Pentagon.
Another plane was missing, was soon found crashed in a field south of Pittsburgh, and it was speculated that this plane had been en route to the White House. Of course later we learned about all the brave men and women aboard Flight 93.
I saw my mom for a few minutes but had to leave for my classes. I got to the University, parked, and went into the main Fine Arts building where that day’s classes would be held. I was still early; so I found a common area and sat down to write in my journal. As I wrote, the shock began to wear off, and I started to internally freak out. Between the events going on in my personal life, and the events that were shaking up the free world, I started to have a panic attack. I couldn’t handle starting classes that day. I looked around and couldn’t believe how calm and collected everyone was; it was as if they had no idea what was happening (and it was possible that they hadn’t heard yet).
I left campus then, knowing I would never make it to my classes that day. I don’t remember where I went or what I did after that. I know I spent the day in shock, wondering what was going to happen.
Thirteen years later, the emotion is still raw, and should be. I hope that a hundred and thirteen years later, this day will be remembered, knowing that if it isn’t, we will be doomed to repeat it. I know that the emotion of historical events naturally fade with time, but I still hope that there will be those who do not allow that to happen, to any of the events in our history.
Thank you to all those who gave and risked their lives in the sacrifice that was required that day to protect our country. Thank you to those who continue to fight and protect our country. And thank you to all of the families who sacrifice every day; our prayers are with you.
Where were you on this day in history?