what today means
By diana on Sep 11, 2010 | In capricious bloviations
our most important non-holiday
Nine years ago today, I went for my morning run. It was a beautiful morning, as I remember. The coastal fog still clung to the California hills.
I returned from my run to find a message on my answering machine--something about America being under attack. I had no idea what this meant. I didn't have a television even then, so I went to my computer and Googled for news. The news sites were clogged, so I logged on to my favorite discussion board. The World Trade Center, whatever that was, had been hit by two planes.
A bit later, someone wrote that the Pentagon had been hit, too. At that point, a creeping horror, combined with disbelief, set in. I'd seen the Pentagon, walked around it, been inside of it. I understood its immensity.
I showered and went to work, where I found a yellow sticky on my computer screen: LT BLACK, REPORT TO THE UCC ASAP. I grabbed my hat and headed to the commander's conference room where we ran the Unit Control Center.
The morning passed in a flurry. We conducted accountability recalls, collected manpower/resources/and current capability data, fielded calls from up and down the chain of command, and relayed command post directives as necessary. Late that afternoon, the captain I was working with said something about the horror at the World Trade Center. I confessed that I was horrified about the Pentagon, and that I didn't know what the World Trade Center was.
He stared at me dumbly for a moment, then said, "You're kidding." No, I wasn't. "You don't even know what's going on, then." I frowned at him. Of course I did. He shook his head and kept shaking it. "There's a television in the break room," he said. "Go now. Watch it. You'll see. You need to see. Go."
And so, around 4pm Pacific Standard Time on 11 September 2001, standing alone in that break room in an eerily silent building, I first saw footage of what looked like a toy plane flying into the side of a building. For the first full minute, I struggled to invert this optical illusion. I knew the "toy plane" was a Boeing 767, a plane over half a football field in length, but my brain fought the implications of this fact.
Holymarymotherofgod, I thought. Holymarymotherofgod. I turned away, walked back to the conference room, and went back to work.
We sent home all non-essential personnel. I was thankful I was not among them. I'm a doer, a problem solver by nature. Like everyone else that day, I desperately needed to help. I felt lucky to be given 12 hour shifts.
In the following days and weeks, we worked long hours and endured lengthy security checks just to get on base and go to work. If we left base for lunch, strangers stopped us to thank us for our service. Eating establishments offered us free drinks and sometimes gave us our meals on the house. We didn't know how to respond. We accepted their offers and said thank you. I think I understand why they did it, though. They were fighting their own feelings of helplessness.
***
Two days ago, I put on my uniform, drove to Denver, then took public transport to campus for commander's call. Before I got back home that night, no less than five strangers had stopped me to thank me for my service or--believing a soldier using public transit must be returning from a deployment--welcome me home. One of these was a Vietnam vet. As we waited for the bus at Union Station, he told me stories about his two tours in 'Nam, a war even less popular than Iraq or Afghanistan and with an immeasurably higher body count. He told me a funny story about watching his good friend, a huge black man, literally turn white when a "two-stepper"--a small but deadly native snake--fell into their swift boat.
We laughed together. We share an understanding and appreciation of the funny moments in otherwise unthinkable circumstances. Then he went quiet. I glanced at him. He was solemnly gazing intently at nothing in particular, far in the distance. Then he turned to me and thanked me for my service. I had a silly thought that he had to be joking, but I knew he wasn't. I said, "You're welcome."
***
This morning, I have returned to the morning of September 11th, 2001.
I've never done this. I ignore this day every year. I don't want to go back. Today, I feel compelled. I ask for others' stories on Facebook. Where were you that day? Everyone posts. They all need to talk about it.
Today is our greatest and most important non-holiday. We don't celebrate it with cookouts and parades; we observe it with genuine sorrow. This is as it should be. We don't remember because someone has told us we should. We remember and mourn because we cannot help ourselves.
Today, I read a discussion thread from the archives of my then-favorite discussion board. This thread tracks the news and reactions as events unfolded that day, mixing believable rumors with unbelieveable facts. Planes are crashing all over the nation, they say--in Pennsylvania and at Camp David. People are leaping to their deaths on the pavement 80 floors below. They look like insects against the backdrop of the towers. People are urging anyone who can, anywhere, to give blood.
Even when I served in Iraq, I didn't think about or relive 9/11. I knew Iraq had nothing to do it, so there was no point. And now, we're still at war, but farther from bringing Al Qaida to justice with each passing year. Now, our wars have nothing to do with September 11th. Now my cynicism is deeper than ever--something which is inevitable for those who follow politics, regardless of what side they take.
I'm trembling uncontrollably now. For nine years, I've fought this moment with the only tools at my disposal: sarcasm and redirection. But sarcasm has never worked with this and now, my guard is down.
My cousin Robby sends me a message: "Thank you for your service."
I understand why people say this. It's because they're way ahead of me. They've allowed themselves to feel all along.
I'm crying now. I say, "You're welcome," and for the first time, I really mean it.
d
5 comments
I love you. And thank you for your service. I’m shedding tears with you hunny. Again.
We had moved to Hawaii just two months prior. TK was stationed at a joint assignment at Pearl Harbor, although he was Air Force.
The phone woke us up early, about 5 am, I think. We were 5-6 hours ahead of the Eastern time zone; I can never remember which, because it varies by Daylight Savings Time, which Hawaii does not observe.
TK put down the phone and turned on the news. We watched in horrified silence. Then he quickly put on his uniform and left.
After the kids went to school, I was by myself, because I hadn’t found a job yet. I remember Jamie coming over because her school was on break, and Mary had classes. She didn’t want to be alone, and I didn’t either.
I remember the eerie silence from no planes flying over. At.All. In the weeks following, we walked down Waikiki beach and it was like a deserted island, but not in a fun way.
Then I remembered the nightmare I’d had the very day before 9/11. It was actually during the day, on the rare occasion of a nap. I dreamed I was laying next to someone on a bed, completely covered by a sheet so that I could not see, and someone was shooting us with a machine gun. I couldn’t see who it was, I didn’t know why they were attacking me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it, nor to warn the person next to me. I woke up startled and extremely disturbed, and immediately went to find all of my family to make sure they were okay.
Life is precious. Liberty is rare. Thank you for serving to protect both.
Nine years ago, the evil of extremist, hate-filled anarchy swept into America’s skies as religious terrorists murdered loving families, men, women and children inspired by the intentional dark depths of a barbaric anti-humanistic dogma.
The attacks of September 11, 2001, were the worst assault on American land in the country’s history and on the global ideals of peace, liberty and human rights which also, even more importantly, put these very ideals to the test.
On that fateful day I can remember exactly where I was…driving across the Popps Ferry Bridge heading home from the midnight shift tour at the police department while listening to two DJs laughing about some idiot who crashed a small airplane into one of the Twin Towers in New York. As I passed by the entrance to the Fire Station at Riverview Drive, I recall the slow shift in the tone of their amused credulity as it became known that it was a fully loaded jet liner, that the building was on fire and that people were dying.
As thoughts of disbelief were racing around in my head, I unlocked my front door and walked into the living room where Granny JoJo was already watching the news. I remember the surreal scene from the helicopter showing the billowing smoke and the swirl of activity below being slowly absorbed into my brain. I kept thinking, rather naively in hindsight, that the fire would soon be out and a complete explanation from the Mayor would forthcoming in a couple of hours.
Then, on live television, I saw another plane slam into the second tower sending flame and debris out the other side. The next few hours I found myself entranced by what I saw as the announcers echoed the same disbelief at what we all were watching.
The rest, in my mind, is endless footage of people covered in gray soot, fire fighters barely escaping the debris as the first tower fell…and then the second just seemed to melt away back into the ground. The reports were repeated so many times that I became unsure which I was watching anymore until someone began reporting something about another missing plane and that the Pentagon was on fire.
The concept of the intensity and full capacity of such a plan made me physically sick as I realized we were all witnessing yet another historical marker by which to assign human despair and the lowest depths to which another being could reach through blind obedience to selfishness and fear.
After all was said and done many, many months later, it was discovered that more than 90 countries lost citizens in the attacks on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, where the “missing” jet had crashed into a field that day.
While certainly an American tragedy, it was also a tragedy for the entire human family.
In all, nearly 3,000 people were killed, including 60 police officers and 343 firefighters who responded to the call in New York City as I watched from the security of our family home, my newborn son, Connor sleeping peacefully through it all.
Nine years on, it is important for me to express to everyone who holds our human existence as something wondrously rare, special and to be continually cared for and protected that we must never forget what hate, fear and ignorance bring upon all of our lives regardless of race, creed, faith, philosophy, gender, political affiliation, age or nationality.
If we love life, then we must feel compelled to take a moment to honor this day, September 11, to solemnly remember those who were taken from us and to then take our most heartfelt and sincere oath that we will not only endure through these events but we will prevail for the greater good over those who would seek to destroy this inherent love of life with these nihilistic ideologies of horror and hate and unbridled fear of others different from them.
Y’all take care of each other and be safe.
Steve Schlicht
Biloxi MS
PS Thanks, d, for everything.
Diana, I, too, had no idea what was happening. I was actually playing on my computer when your Uncle Dale called and told me to turn my television on. Then he said these words: “We’re at War!” I couldn’t believe it, and when I went to see, I could see why someone could possibly immediately have that thought. I spent the rest of the day in front of the television, watching the towers fall, seeing the White House being in danger, and seeing the other plane being brought to the ground by the people who had fought back.
I didn’t think of my family, who might be having to go to war; I was thinking of our country and what all the terrorist attempt meant to us all. I, too, once more say, and it is heartfelt: THANK YOU for serving!!!
Thank you all for sharing, and again, you’re welcome. Steve, thank you for serving. I consider what you do far more important than what I do, and immeasurably more demanding.
To my readers, Steve is not only an amazing writer and public servant (as you can see), but he is a dedicated community volunteer. He is the organizer of The Great Southern Humanist Society, dedicated to promoting a positive view of humanity and humanism itself, and of organizing/volunteering for community outreach programs.
Here’s a piece he wrote in the wake of Katrina. Well worth the read. He is an example to us all.
d
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