I’ve
tried to write this several times over the years, and it’s never sounded right.
This year, I just need to let the words lie on the paper and trust myself, and
you, to understand the heart of what I’m trying to say.
I’m
going to spend very little time on the Internet today, because the 9/11
tributes are just too much.
The
tributes have their place, and we certainly should remember the people we lost.
Continuing to flay a wound that’s been festering for over a decade and prolong
a war without clear cause and meaning anymore, not so much. I support our
troops; my husband was in the Air Force and spent most of his time overseas. My
dad was a Marine. I have no issue with the military, and for most of the soldiers,
they can’t do anything about their orders, but I don’t support this endless
war. But I’m getting off topic.
I was
in tenth grade on September 11, 2001, and just before ten in the morning I had
to be at history class. Our school was very overcrowded so my class was in a
trailer near the bus loop. My previous class was right inside, so I was always
one of the first people to arrive. When I opened the door Mr. Harrison had the TV
on. I thought we were watching some war
film, because I saw the buildings and the smoke.
“What’s
this?” I asked.
He
didn’t stop looking at the TV. “It’s the news. Someone’s flown a plane into the
World Trade Center.”
I
couldn’t speak. I was born and raised in Upstate New York until I was thirteen
years old. I’d been to New York City several times, and remembered the
buildings. I sank into my seat. I could not picture, I could not fathom a plane
flying into the buildings. The rest
of the class filed in, and we all watched, dumbfounded, as the South Tower collapsed
on itself and crumbled away.
We
were numb. We didn’t talk. Normally when we watched a movie in class the kids
took advantage of the teacher’s distraction and talked to each other, or passed
notes. I liked history, but even I wasn’t above writing my book during class if
it was a slow day.
But
we couldn’t. We just watched the news, the endless loop the stations were
playing of the planes flying into the buildings, the buildings crashing, the
news about the pentagon. I wasn’t thinking about the irony of seeing something
like this in history class. I wasn’t thinking that I was literally living
through a momentous moment in history. I wasn’t thinking about the eventual
backlash the Muslim community would receive when the news broke that it was
al-Qaeda terrorists. We just watched and waited, holding our breath to see what
would happen next.
For
people who were born after this time, who grew up hearing references about
9/11, I can’t express to you the feeling of utter loss, of innocence gone. We
were soft and assured in our Americanness that wars happened, but they didn’t
happen here. There was strife and poverty, and guns blazing in the streets, but
that all happened far away from here. This was America after all.
By
next period, the school had instructed teachers to turn off their TVs, but that
didn’t stop the kids from panicking and worrying. This was before four year
olds had cellphones, so it wasn’t like we were all calling or texting our
parents to find out what was up. To make matters worse, Delta had a major hub
in Atlanta Hartsfield Airport, and a good chunk of students had family members working
for the airlines. Kids were frantically trying to figure out if loved ones were
affected or hurt by the airline breech, let alone kids with families in New
York City.
This
was two years after Columbine, so the school went right to lock down. We sat
and waited, while teachers vainly attempted to resume classes, as if anyone
would be able to pay attention that day. We went home, and assessed the damage.
Living in Georgia, most of our tragedies was the shared tragedy of the nation. Little
by little, the stories came out, about the heroics on the airplanes, about
people who were supposed to be in the World Trade Center but weren’t or vice
versa. We started tallying up all that we had lost.
We’re
still counting that cost.
Every
year there’s an outpouring of remembering, and it’s more than I can handle. It’s
just too much, the grief is tangling up with my frustration over how events are
still playing out, the war that keeps going, the people that keep dying, using
such a horrible thing as justification to increase the invasion of our privacy. It
seems like there’s no way to just express grief over a tragedy without it
turning into a nightmare political debate about the ends justifying the means.
So
today I choose the honor the dead, and the people who’ve suffered under the
banner of “freedom”, but away from Facebook and other avenues where nuance is a
lost cause.
