Where Were You?

September 11, 2001...I was driving to work. 

I live in northern New Jersey and every morning as I crest a hill along my commute I can see the skyline of New York City. I was commuting with my wife and the day started out not very differently than any other Tuesday with the exception of the weather - it was exceptional. The expected high was in the low 80‘s with not a cloud in the sky and low humidity.

As we crested the hill and my gaze caught the skyline I turned to my wife and said, “Today is a Top 10 weather day. You can see forever. Just look at the skyline: you can practically make out the windows. It's perfect!” 

I was in my office 30 minutes later when the first plane hit the north tower. 

On the way home I crested the same hill, going in the other direction. In my rearview mirror you could still see forever, but now the view included smoke and ash from the pile that once was the World Trade Center. 

The commute has never been the same.

Eleven years later, a Tuesday, saw me commuting with my wife on a exceptionally clear day weather-wise. I crested that same hill. I turned to my wife and gave her a loving smile, but I didn’t say a word this time. I can’t...

September 11, 2001 was a date that will forever remained etched in our hearts and minds. It was a day that the world became less innocent, people banded together, and we learned what it is like to have unmentionable tragedies happen on our front door.

Last year, for the 10th Anniversary of 9/11, Band Back Together hosted a carnival of posts written by people who were there, people who watched, and people who lost those they loved.

United, in fact, we do stand.

As we live in California, I wasn't directly affected by the events of September 11, 2001.

At the time, I was a stay-at-home mom, who'd gotten up early to power-clean my house for the impending arrival of my in-laws. I was about to wake my oldest, who was in sixth grade, when I turned on the television.

We never turn on the television before school, but I thought as I'd be working, the TV might be good background noise.

Boy, was I wrong.

I will never forget my horror at seeing those images on the television. I woke my then-husband to show him what was happening.

He didn't believe me, rolled back over and went back to sleep. I screamed, "you have to see this!" He rolled out of bed to examine how badly I was exaggerating.

As usual, he was wrong.

We contemplated keeping our son home from school, but as news reports believed the attacks were an accident, we prepped him for his day. Our daughter, almost 2, was still asleep.

My son, being a logical and thoughtful kid, wondered who would do something like this? Since we thought it was an accident, we didn't see any reason to worry. Man, were we wrong.

My son's best friend was a great kid named Arayn, who's father was originally from Afghanistan; his mother Australian. We learned after September 11 that our town in Northern California had a huge Afghan community.

Arayn's parents were the kindest people we'd met since we'd moved, and as they both worked, I often picked up their son from school and took him back to our house. They were thankful he had a place to be and do homework until they got off work. His father was a brilliant artist, and worked at an art/framing shop. We have a gorgeous painting he gave us... but I digress.

Once word came out that this was a terrorist attack, that there may be more planes unaccounted for, I decided to pull the boys from school and bring them home. I was glad for it. Once the media began stating that Afghanistan was responsible for the attack, my heart broke for Arayn's family. I knew they'd be face challenges from angry Americans and that tore me up.

Arayn's father picked his son up around noon that day.

He stayed, watched some of the footage with tears in his eyes. He knew that the United States would retaliate, but that wasn't what upset him.

He turned to us and shared why he had left Afghanistan. Terrorists had taken over his homeland, using it as their base of operations. No Afghan person was safe unless they joined the terrorists. He and his family had no choice but to leave Afghanistan in the early 1990's. He loved his country, but couldn't stand to see it destroyed by vile terrorists.

He went to Australia where he met his wife, and they moved to California in search of a better life. He loved teaching his son about his homeland, but he now knew that he could never take Arayn to see for himself. He spoke so beautifully of his country that I cried, seeing his pain.

He was worried about how this act of terrorism would affect his son in school - if he would be treated differently after the events of 9/11.

I will never forget what he said, "the media have it wrong. This attack has nothing to do with Afghanistan and everything to do with the terrorists. Terrorists who destroyed my homeland and doing the same to my new home."

Eleven years later, I still hear his words echoing through my head. This kind, gentle man, was watching the American media disparage his homeland and there was nothing he could do about it.

Sadly, in our town, there was retaliation against the Afghan people. Many businesses were destroyed while people began to move away.

Arayn and his family made the decision to move back to Australia. We've tried to keep in touch, but it's hard for these things to work out. We haven't heard from them since 2002.

I often wonder how they're doing. If they are okay.

I learned from 9/11 that we cannot make sweeping, generalized conclusions about a group of people; be it where they are from or what God they believe in.

The media doesn't always get it right. They sensationalize, generalize news for the boosts in ratings without bothering to care that their words affect real people, with real feelings. I feel sorry for those who blindly watch the news without considering the people the news stories affect.

9/11 made me more cynical.

And I didn't need that.

At all.

September 11, 2001 was a date that will forever remained etched in our hearts and minds. It was a day that the world became less innocent, people banded together, and we learned what it is like to have unmentionable tragedies happen on our front door.

Last year, for the 10th Anniversary of 9/11, Band Back Together hosted a carnival of posts written by people who were there, people who watched, and people who lost those they loved.

United, in fact, we do stand.

I posted this last year on the 10th Anniversary of Sept. 11th. It's a slightly different perspective on that day.

I tried to finish and get this posted over a month ago, on the actual anniversary, but just couldn’t quite get myself together.

I’ve mentioned before that I work in the travel industry. I don’t blog much about my job due to those pesky social media policies at work and I really really love my job! I work for a major airline, in the Reservations Call Center.

Yes, I am one of those people you talk to when you call the 800 number. (please be nice to me). I work in the Elite Department handling our top frequent fliers - it is my favorite of all the different departments I’ve worked in over the past 21 years.

I was at work the morning of September 11, 2001.

There are no televisions or radios in a call center environment - we had no clue what was happening until our passengers started saying something. I was in the middle of making a reservation when this lady said “Oh my God! The building blew up.”

She was watching the morning news. People all around me were getting similar comments from our passengers.

We hear stuff from passengers who are watching CNN or other news shows while making reservations all the time. Normally we just acknowledge the information and continue on with the call. This time was different. I was taken aback and said, “Excuse me?”

My first thought was “Please Lord, don’t let it be one of our planes.” Followed quickly by “OMG”. Supervisors began running around trying to verify the information we were getting from passengers. Televisions from the training department were being pulled into the break room and the news turned on.

The Emergency Response Manager and I, (I was one of her alternates), started assembling the Emergency Response Team in case we were needed. None of our planes were involved but we did get activated by a client whose international company headquarters were in the Towers.

For the next month or so, as a group we worked 24/7 answering phone calls from around the world from our client’s family members who lost loved ones in the attack. We found them flights to NYC so they could be there in person. Later we booked flights for them to go home to mourn and again to return for memorial services. We listened to stories about their loved ones in a multitude of languages. We grieved with them as we helped coordinate with the Red Cross and other organizations for the shipping of furniture and belongings home to family.

September 11, 2001 means different things to different people. It is remembered in many different ways. For every individual it holds a unique place in their heart, mind and soul. Many wrote about their memories of 9/11 this year as part of the 10th anniversary of the attacks.

While it is a time of reflection and honoring those who died, it should also be a celebration of how we worked together in those dark days following Sept. 11th. A celebration of those who put their lives on the line to help strangers, those who volunteered in many different ways, and so much more. A celebration of how a nation handled a tragedy with strength and grace.

September 11, 2001 was a date that will forever remained etched in our hearts and minds. It was a day that the world became less innocent, people banded together, and we learned what it is like to have unmentionable tragedies happen on our front door.

Last year, for the 10th Anniversary of 9/11, Band Back Together hosted a carnival of posts written by people who were there, people who watched, and people who lost those they loved.

United, in fact, we do stand.

September 11th is approaching.

It sneaks up on me every year. A quick glance at the calendar, an appointment, some kind of plans crop up. And there it is.

I worked in New York City on 9/11.

I was close enough to see it, to smell it, to sense it. For days after the attacks, it hung in the air. My heart hurt.

On the first anniversary of September 11, 2001, I went to work several hours late as I just couldn't do it. I spent that evening creating a painted tile in memory of the terrorist attacks, thinking of those we had lost.

I didn't know anyone personally who died on September 11, 2001. I knew of people. I had known people. I knew people who had lost people. It still hurt like hell.

The next year, I watched the coverage of that day. The reading of the names. The bells tolling. So horribly sad.

Each year, a little less painful, a little further away. Still stinging, less raw. I've been down there since That Day. I've held my breath. The air shifts around you when you're there. The way it all makes you feel. Made me feel.

I haven’t gone since the rebuild. I’m still not ready.

And every year, I remember. We all do. So many thoughts, sentiments, emotions. But we move on. We go about our day. What choice do we have?

We turn off the television. How many times can we watch the towers fall?

We stop listening to the news.

We go outside and breathe fresh air.

We remember the blue sky of that day, and we feel lucky to see it again. We listen to the voices of those around us.

We remember, but we have to live. We exchange memories with those we know, those we don’t. Every year I write something. I can’t allow September 11 to go by without writing about that day. I need to remind everyone, remember myself. To think back for a few moments to That Day.

That Day, we banded together - more than most would expect. I hope we continue to do so. Every year. In honor and memory. With respect for those gone and those who remain. Lost without their loved ones. We try to remember, with the trace of time that cushions us. Let us forget just a little bit as we hold our loved ones closer, if only for the day.

Remembering as history changed forever.

And still, we go on.

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