This Is What I Remember

A beautiful September morning, the sky a brilliant blue that I will always make me think of September 11th. My two oldest children, Kenneth and Rebekah, were in 4th and 2nd grades. I had already dropped them at school and was at home with Andrew and Caroline when the first plane hit.

I was watching the new coverage of the first plane when the second one came into view on camera and hit the second tower.

I was transfixed at the site of those two massive buildings, shimmering like an oasis against the sky, on fire with smoke pouring from them. The minute someone on TV said, "terrorism", I left to pick my children up from school. I wanted them close. I wanted them home.

Later, Rebekah would tell me how it happened for her. How the teacher was called from the room and went out in the hallway. How she she came back in, clearly upset. How the names of children started coming from the intercom and kids were called to the office as frantic parents came to pick them up. How at first, it was one name in five minutes. Then five names in two minutes. Then lists and lists of names.

And it was more than just fear.

We live in Orange County, New York, which just happens to be the farthest away New York firefighters and police officers were allowed to live. This is because in a catastrophic situation, they would need to be able to get into the City quickly. Any farther out, and they wouldn't be able to get there fast enough.

Because we are a bit of a distance, property was cheaper here than in areas closer to the city. We had – and still have – a large population of NYFD and NYPD.

A large segment of our population also commutes to the city for work.

Many of those children who were called down to the office were called because their parents were in the trade center, headed to the trade center, or on their way into the City to try and evacuate people from the trade center. People didn't want their kids to hear about it from someone else, especially if they had parents that worked downtown.

I remember watching the towers fall, staring at the TV disbelieving. "Is that…? No. It can't be."

It can't be.

I sat, curled on the couch for days as tears streamed down my face, trying to explain it to my kids, calling to find out if the people we knew who were with NYFD and NYPD were okay. One of the worst moments for me personally came shortly after the fall of the towers. On TV, it was nearly black with smoke, almost impossible to make out anything substantial. And in the background, a high-pitched chirping that seemed to come from every direction at once. Shrill and persistent, it demanded my attention, forced my thoughts away from the journalists on TV who were talking.

A little while later someone came on the TV and explained that the chirping sound we were hearing was the alarms firefighters wore when they went into a building. Designed to go off when a man was down, they were supposed to lead rescuers to their fallen brothers in conditions when they might not be able to see.

There were so many alarms. So, so many.

A few days later, I went down to the city for an appointment. I wasn't prepared for what greeted me when I stepped out of Grand Central station.

An apocalyptic sky, so dark it blotted out the sun.

An acrid smell in the air, and tears that again filled my eyes when I realized it wasn't just burning wood and steel, but the near-evaporation of human beings.

Flyers littering the ground, the faces of the missing staring up at me on every street, every corner.

Missing. Lost. Have You Seen Me?

I don't like to talk about September 11, 2001. It still makes my throat close up. Still makes my eyes sting. Still brings back memories too raw, too fresh, even after ten years. I usually keep the TV off and spend the day thinking about the people that we lost and the people still here. Still trying to make sense of it all, just like me.

But it seems important to remember. To KEEP it raw and fresh, even though it hurts.

So this is what I remember.

A beautiful September morning. The last of our innocence.

Buildings burning and then, inexplicably, falling.

Children, afraid and scared.

Mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and children and friends, lost.

Haunted faces at soccer games and school functions. Haunted for weeks, months, years.

Funerals. So many funerals and memorials in our town and others. So many people who left for work or went to help and never came back.

Love. Yes, there was love, too, because in that moment we glimpsed the inherent truth of our existence as human beings;

We are in this together, my friends. The good, the bad, the horrific.

And I can think of no better way to honor the people we lost that day than to remember that, even when it gets hard. Especially when it gets hard.