This week's column

My memories of 9/11

As the 10th anniversary of 9/11 was observed over the weekend, many have recounted where they were or how they felt that day and in the time that followed.

I had recently graduated from Seminary and was about to move home from Louisville. I went to work like any other morning to input data at a library collection agency in Southern Indiana. Some called us the library police.

After the first plane hit, the receptionist told us she received a phone call saying an airplane had hit the World Trade Center. We all thought it was a small plane and was an accident. Then she got a second call about the second plane.

We all huddled in our conference room on a fuzzy television that barely had a signal.

We all stood there, speechless, as the first tower crumbled. Shock would be the best word to describe it.

The days that followed were a bit of a blur. The television stayed on in my apartment, constantly tuned into news coverage to see if anyone survived.

From my apartment I could see planes heading in and out of the airport, but the skies that week were empty, no blinking lights. Except for one night. Any other time it wouldn’t have stood out, but a single plane was flying in the night’s sky. I found out the next morning it was a small plane that had been given permission to fly medical supplies to New York.

I remember seeing the tired and worn rescue workers on the news and wanted to drive to New York and give them a hug or bake them cookies, anything. Most of us will never know what they went though. What they saw, smelled and heard.

The end of that week I was scheduled to move home, commuting to Indiana while trying to find a church job. Home was such a welcome thought. I kept thinking as I watched things unfold on television that I would soon be home. Home seemed like a safe place.

In the years that followed many things changed. We went to war and I encountered people’s lives touched by the results of 9/11. Brave families at home with fear behind their eyes.

I also took my first plane trip in the post 9/11 era. I wasn’t scared of terrorist or crashing. I became paranoid that my suitcase wasn’t packed right or my shoes looked suspicious. A strange kind of paranoia in a post 9/11 world.

The date 9/11 later developed a happier significance for my family. Three years after the attacks my cousin’s twin boys were born on that date. Something like that takes a bit of the edge off the impact of just saying “9/11.”

But on the tenth anniversary, I remembered it all again. The strange feeling of hope through sadness brought the same tears as it did 10 years ago, when bravery wore a uniform or a fireman’s hat or came from ordinary people in a tower, in a government building, on a plane.

Images still shake the heart and stir emotions. It’s hard to watch old footage where the towers can be seen rising in the distant New York skyline. It’s almost haunting.

But for me, in the midst of the hurt of that day, God’s love remains. Many might find that a strange reality, but in the days and weeks following the attacks it’s a comfort to which many ran. The day after the attacks I walked into my little office building in Southern Indiana to find every co-worker holding hands, regardless of where they were in their faith, praying.

It’s a day that will never be forgotten. A day when simple words become a mantra.

“Let’s roll.”

No, I don’t think any of us will ever forget.

http://www.thenewsenterprise.com/content/my-memories-911