Ten years ago, the world as I knew it, the world I grew up in changed in an instant. I'd heard my parents talk to their friends - where were you when Kennedy was shot? Like it or not, this became my generation's moment. Where were you on September 11th? I've shared my story with friends through the years.
I was on a plane when the towers were hit. This always strikes people, how can it not? I ordinarily wouldn't have been. My grandfather, who I was extremely close to, had passed away just days before and I was in Kentucky for his funeral. That Tuesday morning was the day after the funeral so we were traveling back to Florida - my dad, my sister and I. My mom stayed in Kentucky to help her mother, my Mama Doris. We got off our plane in Atlanta and walked to our gate for our flight to Gainesville.
There were no televisions on. In retrospect, this should have struck me as odd but I was so tired and not paying attention, that I didn't notice at first. Our gate for our flight to Gainesville was next to a gate to LaGuardia. Our flight had been delayed, something about "a problem in New York" - but no details, much to my annoyance which as a 15 year old I had no hesitancy to express. But then, the people at the gate next to us started getting phone calls. And we heard screaming, crying, panicked voices. My dad immediately walked over to find out the trouble. I'll never forget the look on my dad's face when he told us - planes have flown into the World Trade Center.
New York means a lot to my family - and did then. My dad was born in the Bronx and claims the city as his home. My mom, from Kentucky, had been few places in the US when my dad brought her to New York for the first time. She fell in love and it's been her favorite city ever since. At that point, my sister and I had been to the city 3 times on family vacations. The most recent of which we had eaten, exactly 3 months to the day earlier, at Windows on the World - the restaurant at the top floor of the North Tower. We were devastated.
We realized immediately there was no hope of boarding our flight, and we were instead directed to baggage claim. Now was when I realized the airport had shut off all televisions - probably in an attempt to avoid a mass panic. We were joined by a sweet UF student traveling alone, returning home for class and wanting to find her luggage as well. On our way to baggage claim a woman approached us on the escalator. "What's going on?" or something along those lines was what she asked my dad. He explained "planes have flown into the Twin Towers at the World Trade Center." Her face turned white and I'll never forget her words "My son works there" and she sprinted away, probably to find a phone and try to reach her son. To this day we don't know the outcome, and whenever my dad mentions it I can tell it still deeply troubles him.
In baggage claim I finally had a cell phone signal to call my mom (the phones up to this point hadn't been working). I imagined the worst, her and my grandmother who have just lost my grandfather watching the television in horror, trying to reach us and panicking that we were on one of those planes. Thankfully, they spent the morning getting organized in the house and my grandmother resting. They hadn't turned on the tv. When my mom answered I said "Mommy mommy we're okay. We're still in Atlanta." Her response "oh honey don't worry, TSA will get you on the next available flight" eased my worry that she had been terrified, but then it was up to me to tell her "mom you don't understand. turn on the television. planes have flown into the world trade center." All she said was "Oh my God." she says my grandmother said "Thank God your daddy didn't live to see this day." It would have devastated him. My grandfather was one of the kindest people you ever knew.
We never saw a tv at the airport. We did give up on finding our luggage. The girl who we befriended happened to be from Atlanta, and her dad came to pick her up to drive her to Gainesville so she could be at class in the morning. Total strangers helped us too, and gave my dad, my sister and I a ride home. We rode listening to NPR, not speaking. Listening to coverage of the towers falling (after the fact), listening to reporters interviewing survivors at the scene. It wasn't until late that night that I saw what everyone else saw, the images of the towers being hit, and then ultimately collapsing. To this day my strongest memories and senses are what I heard that day.
My family loves New York. We love the people, the spirit, and the city. When I've talked to people from here they talk about the sadness and the strange quietness of the streets that day. But they also talk about the survival response to move through it and past it. New Yorkers have never let this attack define them. Not in any permanent terms. The spirit here is one of resilience, sometimes arrogance, speed and adrenaline, hope and dreams. There are no words that could express my gratitude and appreciation of the heroes of that day. The firefighters that walked into - not out of those burning buildings. The ones in the second tower who continued to try to save people even as they knew the first tower had collapsed. But I also admire this city for respecting the tragedy and the day, but not living in fear. Riding the subways. Continuing to build high - build bigger - and better than before. The new tower sounds like a 21st century marvel, and I know it will be. The memorial to Ground Zero I am looking forward to seeing, to paying my respects.
But I also look forward to walking the streets at night, hopping on a plane to Europe, and going to the top of every tall building I can. Because the true spirit of this city is one of people who are unconquered, who aren't terrorized, and who refuse to live in fear.
My thoughts, prayers, and love are with everyone who lost someone on this day.
Love, Dana
No comments:
Post a Comment