Tragedy has a way of searing itself upon our memory. That’s not to say that the sadness of tragedy always remains as strong, but that memories of events, people, and surroundings stick with us longer, and sometimes forever.
Growing up I remember hearing stories from my mom and grandparents about where they were when JFK was assassinated. My grandmother would tell of the neighbor rushing over and between tears and sobs told her that “the President was just shot!” As I look back on events of 9/11, I realize now that this day is my “JFK memory” and 9/11 will be my “where were you when” story.
Physics lab … that was what was on the agenda for that morning. It was the start of my junior year at college, and I was trying to get myself out of bed to make my way to class. My hectic morning breakfast, Pop Tarts and Mountain Dew, was broken by a phone call from my mother. Honestly, I didn’t have time for the call because I was already running late. I answered quickly and she didn’t even bother greeting me, but abruptly said, “A plane just hit the World Trade Center in New York.” I can still hear the words plain as day in my mind, and my brush off reply, “Thanks for the heads up. I am late for class, did you need anything else?” We quickly ended our short conversation, and I made my way from the dorms to the Physics Building.
For the life of me I can’t remember what happened between my walk from the dorms to class. Sadly, I was probably too self-absorbed in what was going on in my life to really give it much thought, but that all changed once I entered class.
Everyone was standing around watching the TV, and not in a way that I had ever experienced before. There was such a deafening silence in the room from those in attendance as each individual hung on the words of the many news reporters. I remember asking my lab partners what was going on, and them telling me that the TA was just going to let us watch what was going on in New York. It was puzzling to me for a moment as I was still under the impression that this might be an accident, but they filled me in that another plane had hit the south tower, and that the news was saying they were receiving reports that this wasn’t an accident.
The remainder of the day turned into a blur, but I do remember it being very chaotic on campus as almost all activity ceased. Some professors were cancelling classes; others just had us watch the news. I remember walking through the student union and seeing a huge mass of people gathered around the TVs. As the day progressed the look of utter disbelief on the faces of people seemed to spread and overtake us all.
As the late afternoon and evening approached, I remember just sitting in my room watching the continued coverage. My roommate was from Philadelphia and had a connection to the situation that I couldn’t understand as I had no family in harm’s way. Thankfully everyone he knew was safe; and while that was a comfort, it was incredibly difficult to feel any relief as we all seemed to be gripped in the fear of what’s next? What will happen tomorrow?
This year marks the 10th anniversary of the tragedy of September 11th. We will be gathering at Peace Lutheran Church that Sunday (click here for worship times) to remember God’s promises in the face of tragedy, to receive comfort from God’s care for us, to commemorate those who lost their lives, and to lift up those that they left behind. I would invite you to share your memories of this day and to share your “where-were-you-when” story; just comment on this blog to share your story with our Peace family. Then make sure to come back and see what other people have shared. As God’s people, we’re all in this together. We remember together. We mourn together. We look forward in hope together. Please share your memories with us.
We had recently moved to Florida. I arrived at the home of a potential new friend with my 11 month old child in tow. This other mom had the news on when I got there and told me that the World Trade Center had just been hit. This meant absolutely nothing to me. I was so absorbed in my own transition and my young child and my “mommy conversation” that I barely even watched the news. I guess I was desensitized to violence on television. It was hard for me to believe that what I was seeing was real. It eventually started to sink in, though. I remember doing nothing but watching the news for days and days. Such a tragedy.
I was on vicarage (like internship for pastors) up in Michigan. We had a year-round Wed night service and I was scheduled to preach the next night. I was in the office preparing when I heard the news and called home to tell my wife to turn on the TV. When it became apparent this was a terrorist attack I remember thinking quite selfishly, “Well there goes that sermon! Now I have to start over!”
The prayer service that night and then worship on Wed were a great comfort. But I remember that I had a delayed reaction. For the first several weeks after 9/11 I was completely focused on other people. It wasn’t until sometime around Thanksgiving that a personal sense of horror, fear, helplessness, and anger set in, and I broke down and wept.
Like Pastor Rossow, I was on vicarage too, in Florida. That morning, I was at a meeting of pastors and church workers in Orlando – about 30 people. Around 9am, someone stepped in to say that a plane had hit a building in New York City, but no one gave this much notice. A few minutes later numerous cell phones began wringing around the room at nearly the same time. It was eerie. Within minutes, all of us were back in our cars headed to our respective churches and communities to discover the horror of that day and to share together our griefs, our fears, and our trust in God.
It took me a few days to really come to grips with what had happened. Our firstborn was about to turn one, and Jamie was pregnant with our second child. I remember being so scared about their future and the world in which they would grow up. As we gathered together with our church family, I was reminded that God has brought his people through all kinds of devastations and attrocities. I thought of my own parents – my mom raising me my first year of life while my father flew helicopters in Vietnam. God doesn’t promise no pain or loss in this life…but He does promise to conquer it fully as He brings us into His kingdom. That is what got me through those initial weeks!
I remember getting the phone call that morning, and my friend simply said, “we’re going to war.”. I turned on the TV to watch the first tower engulfed in flames. At that point, no one knew if this was a freak accident or what had happened. Then as I was watching here comes another plane and crashes into the second tower. Then they knew, this was a terrorist attack. A what??? On our soil??? I was in disbelief! As the towers came down, I wept, I feared, and I couldn’t believe this was a moment in my life that would go down in history with such violence and sadness. I knew this would be a story I would someday tell my children. The next few days I just sat on the couch unable to move from the moment to moment updates. The heroes of firefighters, and nameless faces that tried to rescue friends and strangers. The death toll that continued to rise. I was so proud of our nation for the way we rallied together admist all our differences and beliefs. When we were hurting, we came together. I remember the first Sunday after that day, and worship was standing room only. Why must it take such an unspeakable crisis to bring us to God for comfort. There were many lessons in that day…ones I hope we have not forgotten as christians and as a country.
I remember feeling such sorrow for the victims and their families over and over: from the first news broadcasts, when the second plane hit, when the towers actually fell, and later seeing pictures of the hopeless people jumping from the buildings. I hope the survivors have been able to experience some peace in the last 10 years.
As the dust settled and even today, my most vivid thought of September 2001 is the unity the country experienced, if even for a short time. That was the inspiring part for me of such a horrible tragedy.
On September 11, 2001, I was sitting in the same chair and listening to the same morning TV show as I was on April 19, 1995, when the news broke that the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City had been bombed. But this time was different. In 1995, as reporters scrambled to cobble the story together, I had immediately called my husband Ned at his office. I needed to share with him the shock of domestic terrorism. I needed to hear his voice for the reassurance that our life was still stable.
On 9-11, I reached for the phone again. I wanted to tell Ned that the World Trade Center—just a block away from his company’s home office—had been hit by a plane. I wanted to remind him about the time when we were in the WTC together, rocketing our way up to “Windows on the World”—the restaurant on the 107th floor of the North Tower—in an ear-popping elevator. I wanted to hear his voice again.
But this time I couldn’t call my husband. He’d been dead for one year, four months, and two days. I burst into tears. I felt as if I’d lost my husband again.
As the personal stories emerged about the thousands of individuals who died on 9-11, I felt the pain of every surviving spouse, parent, and child. I wept that parents—like my son’s father—would not see their children graduate from high school. I wept that husbands and wives would never share the joy of attending a child’s wedding or knowing their grandchildren. I wept for the children who would miss their parents or only know them from pictures and family stories. I wept for survivors who were afraid now. I wept for myself and my son.
A fellow writer who knew very little of my personal history told me a few years before 9-11 that I hadn’t “suffered enough.” I resented her comment at the time, but on September 11, 2001, I realized that because of my husband’s death, I felt an overwhelming connection and compassion for thousands of people who were unknown to me on September 10.
Took the kids to school and was scheduled to substitute in Rachel’s classroom (she was 6th grade). Vicki Lovett caught me in the parking lot and told me about the first plane. We listened about the second one on the radio. We let the older kids watch and listen on tv. Had a couple parents come pick their younger kids up from school and take them home. The teacher was in Oklahoma at a conference and couldn’t get home for a couple of days. I remember the uncertainty of everything we knew living in America, but I also remember thanking God that I was in the same school building as my children, that I could call my husband at work, and that He would take care of us.
I had just graduated from college in May, and I was listening to the radio that morning on my way to 1 of my 2 jobs. After the first plane hit, the radio DJs were speculating about what had caused the crash. Did the pilot fall asleep? Was there substance abuse involved? As soon as the second plane hit, there was no more speculation. It was as if we all suddenly realized that this was no accident. That only became clearer as news reports came in about the Pentagon and the Pennsylvania field. I taught music to the little ones in my classes that morning with no mention of the events, but certainly a few of them had to realize that the teachers kept crowding around the tiny supply closet where a TV was set up to keep us abreast of the latest information. As I drove to my full time job later that morning, the skies were eerily quiet, and I kept looking up expecting the worst, but no planes were flying. The skies remained quiet for many days, which was a bit unsettling. For the rest of the day, my co-workers and I pretty much sat around the office and watched the news reports. I was working full time at a non-profit theatre, so we were making and receiving phone calls to and from the families of our former students who were living in New York. A couple of them were locked down in an NYU dance studio following their class, and another actor friend of mine was watching military planes fly overhead from his new home in New Jersey, but they were all safe. Later that evening, I was sitting in rehearsal for a production of “Peter Pan” which was set to open that week (my 3rd job), and our director was addressing us. He said that his life was re-defined that day. That has really stuck with me. Our lives as Americans were re-defined that day as well. That tragedy reminded us all of what was truly important, and once again, God used evil for good.