Reflections of September 11th: Seven Years Later

Every year, when August becomes September, my mind returns to that horrible day when America stood still.  To all the people who recalled what they were doing when they heard the news about President Kennedy being shot in November of 1963, September 11th is our day which will always be a part of us.

I just turned the television on; I was watching the Today Show.  Initial reports were that a small plane crashed into the north tower of the World Trade Center.  Black smoke was billowing out of the large, gaping hole.  I believed it must have been a small plane that crashed.  I just prayed there weren’t too many people hurt or killed in the accident.

My heart stopped when I watched the second plane hit the south tower and exploded into a hideous fireball.  This was not an accident-our country was being attacked in ways unimaginable to Americans and the majority of the world.  I couldn’t comprehend the reasons why this was happening; all I could do was to react.

Once I learned that the Pentagon became the next target, my heart fell out of my chest.  My brother had recently been assigned to a military appointment at the Pentagon.  Before I could breathe my next breath, the phone rang.  It was my mother telling me my brother was alive and well.  Years later we would learn how much of a role my self-effacing brother played in the emergency response at the Pentagon.

Not even an hour had passed and three planes had crashed needlessly.  When the news came of a fourth plane going down in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, I went numb.  What was happening? 

For the rest of the country watching on their television sets at home, at school or wherever Americans found themselves that day, we were waiting for news, any kind of news that would give us assurance.  No one felt safe.  I saw the fear in my sister’s eyes after she picked up her kids from school. 

Manhattan was already in chaos when the first of the Twin Towers collapsed.  No one expected these mighty steel structures to implode like a house of cards. Less than two hours after the first plane hit the north tower, it too collapsed, blanketing lower Manhattan in a thick cloud of smoke and dust. I could almost feel myself gasping for air watching people running from the plumes.

I never felt that hopeless in my entire life. I couldn’t do anything to help those people in desperate need. As that terrible day wore on, I felt the weight of living with this terrible act against America, my country, for all of my days. I will always remember how our brothers and sisters reached out to one another and my belief in America is stronger than ever.