When I woke at 6 a.m. this morning to tend to my mutts, the first thought that I had was "Today is September 11th." And then my heart plummeted into my stomach. This has happened on this date for the last eight years, like a nervous tic. I'll answer the question I know most of you are wondering - No, I didn't personally lose anyone that day, but I did lose a bit of myself.
I started thinking about today a few days ago. It's been a hard day for me. I usually wake, check the news outlets, read stories about the people who were directly affected that day and end up in tears. Then I'll look up articles of Mohammed Atta and his trip that included an overnight stop in my beloved Portland. That's where the anger takes over from the heartbreak. This has been my routine every year... besides the actual year, which I did much of the same, but also sat in front of the television in disbelief for days, unable to look away, unable to turn the damn thing off.
Nine years ago I was 26, living with my parents, having moved back from Florida and going back to finish my degree. My ex-husband and I were building a house, not yet engaged. I was working full time and constantly on the move. I can distinctly remember the events of that day, I've replayed them so many times I find it hard to put emotion in them. I think most of the lack of emotion has to do with the shock:
I was on I-95 North, heading from Biddeford to South Portland for morning classes. At the Scarborough exit I received a call from my step-mom that there was something going on in New York and that I should try to get the local news station on the radio. This was still when the first plane hitting the World Trade Center was thought to be an accident. The local station wouldn't come in well, so I was getting very spotty reports.
I had a planned stop at my friend's house in South Portland to drop off a lovely tea set she'd painted for her new baby daughter. She hadn't been watching TV, so I asked her to turn it on. That was when the second plane hit the WTC. I pulled myself away, this was only my first or second class of the semester and I couldn't miss it. I drove the ten minutes to campus, parked and the plane hit the Pentagon.
My professor had friends in the WTC, he hadn't heard anything from them and our class was sitting there in class, listening to news reports on a radio. After class, I met up with my cousin and we sat in the cafeteria watching the news and tearing up until I had to pull myself away to go to work.
At the time I worked for a larger company, who had already issued a directive to close stores as needed. I was a new manager and not really sure what to do, so we bought a radio and sat for a while with my employees and just listened. The decision came when one of them came in for their shift, he came to the office and asked to leave. His brother-in-law worked in the WTC, his wife and her family hadn't heard from him and he wanted to be home with them. I closed the store, sent them all home. His brother-in-law didn't make it.
I watched TV for days. I remember going home, sitting down on the edge of the seat and just watching the same reports over and over again. I dug for information on the Internet, I was obsessed. I couldn't imagine such a tragedy happening here, in the United States. That just didn't happen. I'd lived the first 26 years of my life naive. Thinking no one could hurt us. On September 11, 2001 that vision was shattered.
I was also terrified. My brother had just graduated High School and enlisted in the Marines. He was scheduled to leave for boot camp in just a few weeks. Would I lose him? I didn't, but I spent five years worried for him, worried for my step-mom and how she would handle her only child getting hurt or worse. Every tour brought us anxiety and pain, but we knew it was the best thing we could do. We were on every tour with him. Every homecoming was sweeter, we grew an appreciation for one another and the time we got to spend together. We bonded over trips to North Carolina to welcome him home. It was our new life.
The pain never really goes away. The loss of innocence. I blame Mohammed Atta for a lot of that. He was one of the terrorists. I can recognize his picture, I remember his name, I know he was responsible for crashing the plane that hit the North Tower of the WTC. Why would I care to know this? Why? I know he doesn't deserve it. But he came to MY city, he flew from Portland on the morning of the 11th. He stayed at a hotel less than a half mile from my work, he shopped at MY Wal-mart (it's thought they may have bought the box cutters there) and he stopped into the convenience store where I bought my gas. We had to review our security tapes to see if he may have actually walked in the doors of our store to use a computer. The bastard cold have walked right by me that day and that pisses me off. That's why I blame him. If he'd flown out of somewhere else I wouldn't have all those overlapping paths with him. I wouldn't feel like my space was violated, like he took something from me.
I still see him everywhere, no worries, not actually have visions... but when I go into the gas station, which has been remodeled and completely different, I think of him. When I go into the Marden's, which is the old Wal-mart, I think of him. Every time I drive by that hotel, I think of him. I feel like in a way, that makes him win and it just pisses me off more.
So, today, on this 9th anniversary of a day we shouldn't have to remember, I wish you all peace. Hug your loved ones closer and go out and do something nice for someone else. Find a stranger, someone you'd normally walk by and ignore, shake their hand and say hello. Accept them, regardless of their culture, religion, color, orientation, just accept them. We need to remember what was, so we can make sure we never have to relive it.
We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey. ~Kenji Miyazawa
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