9/11 by Gerri Brousseau

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the tragic 9/11 attack on the United States.  At the time, I was living in California, 3000 miles from friends and family.  Because PST is 3 hours later than EST, by the time I woke up at 6:30 a.m. the towers had both already fallen.  When I flipped on my computer that morning I found pictures of the jets crashing into the towers.  As usual, I was in a hurry and didn't read the news article.  I simply thought the pictures were some sensational promotion for a new movie and I paid no attention.  I hurriedly checked my email and turning off my computer, went to get ready to go to work.  On my way to work, I flipped on the radio station and the announcer was talking about the attack, but did not say where.  The images of the Twin Towers long slipped from my mind.  Yet, I started to get a little nervous at the frantic, sationalistic voice of the announcer.  Was this some broadcasting trick, like War of the Worlds had been?

At that time, I worked in a law office which was on the second floor in the Federal Court House so when I arrived at work I found the offices were closed and we were sent home.  That was when I discovered what had happened and I was so devastated I

was trembling.

I don't remember driving home, but when I got there I rushed into my apartment and flipped on my TV.  I stood there in the middle of my living room in total disbelief as I

watched the twin towers fall one and then the next.  I could not believe my eyes.  I was originally from Connecticut.  I had been to the towers, been in the buildings.  No.  No way were they gone.  No way could they be destroyed.  No way were all those innocent people killed.  I refused to believe it could be true.  It is difficult to tell you how this act of terror 3000 miles away made me feel.  Shocked?  Helpless?  Insecure?  And in deep need to talk to my son.  Crying, I picked up the phone I called him.  He was 19 at the time and he was in Connecticut.  I was frantic to speak to him, to tell him that I loved him.  To make sure he knew.  To make sure he was alright.  I desperately wanted to hug him, but he was 3000 miles away.  All I wanted to do was feel closeness to my loved ones and to let them all know how I felt about them.

I could not believe anyone would have the nerve to attack the United States of America.  Who was this lunatic Osama bin Laden?  Then, finally the anger struck.  I wanted to see bin Laden's head on a platter.  The grief struck next.  I grieved for those

who lost their lives in the towers that day, for those brave souls who tried to rescue others and failed.  I cheered for those brave men and women who were able to rescue others … and for those who survived.

Then finally, the pride of being an American came home to roost in my heart.  Yes, I am proud of our country, proud of the fortitude and courage of our people.  I can't help but remember that day and will never forget the impact it had on me and the mixed emotions it stirred in my soul.  Where were you on that day?  As the Alan Jackson song asks, where were you when the world stopped turning?

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