My grandmother still remembers where she was and what she was doing when she heard the news about Pearl Harbor. My mom still remembers where she was and what she was doing when John Kennedy was assassinated.
I still remember where I was on September 11th.
My life has two parts to it. The part up through September 10, 2001 and
the part from September 11, 2001 to the present. A defining moment. My
life as an Army wife also has two parts. The first part was where the
biggest drawback or downside of military life was a hardship tour to
Korea. The second part is life as I know it right now.
The
morning of September 11, 2001 I was 10 months pregnant and 5 days from
my due date. I had 4 days left to go as a teacher before going on
maternity leave and was only working half days so I didn't need to be
in until 11am that day. MacGyver had a 7am work call and was in the
shower when my alarm went off. I remember smacking the snooze button on
the radio and through the haze of sleep, I heard the DJ say "a plane
has hit the Pentagon.".
I woke up. Quickly.
I turned
the radio back on and sat bolt upright in bed as I listened. It took me
a minute to wrap my brain around what I was hearing. In that time,
MacGyver finished his shower and turned off the water. I got up and out
of bed as fast as my pregnant belly would let me and knocked on the
door. He answered and I told him he needed to go downstairs and turn on
the TV.
How many people uttered those words that day?
Everyone I talk to, every story I hear involves those words. "You need to go and turn on the TV."
We
went downstairs and stood, gaping, at the television. We couldn't even
cry. We were too shocked. I think the first tower fell while we were
watching and that must have sparked MacGvyer to move. He bolted
upstairs, threw on his BDUs, grabbed his overnight bag and some food,
kissed me goodbye, and left. Still, there were no tears. I didn't know
if I would see him again. In my mind, he would deploy. I don't know
where I thought he was going or what I expected him to be doing but I
did not expect him to come home. Mentally I was trying to steel myself
to have this baby alone. And I was ok with that. Hell, after thinking
about what the people in New York, DC, and Pennsylvania were going
through, having a baby on my own was nothing compared to that.
Still, there were no tears.
I
went to school. It was chaos and sadness all at the same time. We
didn't get anything done that day (or for a few days after). We all sat
and watched TV. And talked. And worried. And prayed. Yes, we prayed in
a public school. Seemed like the thing to do at the time.
But still, no tears.
And then I came home. And I sat down and watched TV. And I saw this...
And, for some reason, that image stuck with me. Moreso than any other
image I saw that day or any other day. I had read about Father Mychal
Judge a while back. I knew who he was. I remember reading about how he
tended to the families of the victims of TWA flight 800 when it crashed
off Long Island and thinking what an incredible man he was.
When I realized who it was that they were carrying out of the rubble, my heart broke. And I cried.
So that's my story. Where were you?
