story8119.xml

story8119.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-09-25

September 11th began as a very happy day for me. Just two months earlier, I had resigned from a hectic job as an associate at a large law firm and was still revelling in the wonderful feeling of having some down time. I got up and made breakfast for my husband and sister, and saw them off to work at their respective offices in downtown Washington, D.C.

I spent the morning puttering around the house, and still had not gotten dressed for the morning by 8:30 a.m. when I wandered into our bathroom to do a little tidying up and organizing. I flipped on the radio to the country music station where the Lee Greenwood song about "Proud to be an American" was playing. I thought twice for a second, because the radio rarely plays that song unless it's the Fourth of July or something tragic has happened. I continued tidying, singing along with Greenwood as he belted out "And I'm proud to be an American, for at least I know I'm free, and I won't forget the men who died, and gave that right to me, and I'd gladly stand up, next to them, and defend that right today, . . . God bless the U.S.A." And as the song closed the D.J. came on and reported that a plane had apparently crashed into the side of the World Trade Center. My heart stopped and still holding the glass I had in my hand, I froze and just stared at the clock radio. And then, almost without a human concious thought, I knelt down on the tile floor to pray. Despite not being a terribly religious person, I prayed and prayed for everyone in that airplane. I prayed for their families. At that point, I had no idea that our nation would need the prayers of the world for that which we were to endure.

I went straight to the living room to turn on the television. Every station was covering the World Trade Center. There it was, on fire. Watching it there on television was truly surreal. Saddened and dismayed, I called my husband to let him know what was going on. He had already read the news on the Internet but had not yet seen television coverage. As we hung up, I flipped the channel to the local television station which was covering the WTC. Suddenly, the local station flipped to its television traffic camera, which was located on the highway that runs along by the Pentagon. A news reporter came on "live" and was frantically reporting in a completely unrehearsed story that something had just exploded or a bomb had gone off or a plane had hit the Pentagon. The traffic camera operators had seen it happen.

I remember trying to add up all the events in my head, clicking through them at light speed. Watch t.v. Dial cell phone to husband. Cell lines busy. Run for cordless phone on land line. Dial cordless and cell phone simultaneously. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, I got Ryan on the phone. I was nearly histarical, begging him to get out of his office building (on K street, next to the IMF and World Bank buildings). I have never, in all my 28 years (at that time), felt such panic for my family. Ryan was calm and thinking through everything. Was it safer to stay put or leave? Some of his colleagues had seen the plane crash into the Pentagon from his office building. I could see the office scene playing out in my head: People milling around. Talking. Coffee. I can't believe it. As if in slow motion. But in my mind I was in hyper-gear, crying and begging him to get out of the building because there could be more to come. At that point, my mother-in-law clicked in on the call waiting and said "are you guys ok" and I replied through tears "I've got him on the other line. He can see the smoke coming out from his office!" She replied "oh my God" and hung up the phone before I could say anything else. I found out later that she did not know at that time about the Pentagon, and therefore assumed that Ryan was in New York and possibly in the WTC because he is often there for long periods of time closing business deals. She spent the next long minutes praying the prayer that only a parent can pray.

I clicked back to Ryan and he assured me he was making plans to exit the building, but he wanted to be sure he would be safer outside than inside. He had his bike at the office, as he often commutes to work on his bike, and he would just ride home. With that settled, we turned immediately to my sister --- all this time, I had been speed dialing her cell phone in desperation. Her office was behind the Ronald Reagan building in downtown D.C. Ryan and I decided that he would come home, and as he did I would work on contacting Viv (my sister), and when were all safely home we'd get in our truck and high tail it to the mountains. I was to stock the car with all our camping gear, pack a cooler, and fill both cars with gasoline.

Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, I got through to my sister. She was fine, hearing her voice was like a sweet melody in a dream. Looking back on it, and as I watched person after person report what it was like to have had contact or not have had contact with their loved ones, I cried inside for them, because here we were in Washington, near danger but not in any immediate danger as it turned out . . . and yet that sweet melody of her voice. Despite her being four years my senior, my sister was hesitant on the phone --- saying "well, I'm not sure what they want us to do or whether they are going to close the office." I exploded into my lawyerly demonstrative voice, saying "get yourself out of there and home now, please, I'm begging you." My urgency seemed to affect her, and she began making her way home then.

Getting everyone reassembled took time. My sister began walking from her office, stopping by my husband's office to retrieve his running shoes as they wear the same size. She walked and walked, calling us from her cell phone every so often to report her progress. Meanwhile, Ryan cycled home and I frantically threw camping gear into the Land Cruiser. I remember seeing our neighbor, an older woman who is now a grandmother. We just held each other and wept in the parking lot of our condominium. She was leaving to go to her daughter's house. I remember her saying she could not be alone that day. My self-defense mode was so high that day. I was convinced all the sky was falling. I urged her to be careful in making her way to her daughter's home.

I talked to the garbage collector man that morning too. We had never spoken before. But that morning we had a common bond. I remember him saying "there's bombs going off everywhere." Well, luckily that was not quite the case, but his instincts were right. We told each other to be careful and shook hands.

Ryan got home a few minutes later and in his adreline rush said "are we ready to go?" I said "not without my sister" and he immediately replied "of course, let's go get her" and we did just that. We sped down 66 as far as we could get to the D.C.-Virginia border, where police had blocked the roads. Streams of people were walking home. People in suits and ties, just walking along, person after person. Finally we saw Viv and I ran to her and just hugged her.

We made our way back home. How strange it was for us all to be home on a work day. The sun was bright and we were all just stunned and thankful to be at home. We discussed whether to actually go to the mountains to hide out. In the end, we decided we were probably safer just staying put. I remember Ryan saying "I think they're done for today." I still think about his comment now, a year later, on so many levels. His comment was correct --- they were done terrorizing the nation for the day. But even in the immediacy of the moment, my husband was already thinking to the future . . . that there could or would be days other than today when we'd be at risk. His comment for me was a defining moment, a moment that marked the end of my fight or flight response of the events of the morning, and the beginning of this new and never ending chapter of acknowledging our vulnerability as a nation.

We spent the rest of the morning watching the news accounts of the towers falling. It was just so unbelievable. We called our family members. My mom was listening to accounts on the radio, but couldn't yet bring herself to turn on the television. I cried to my dad and we talked and talked. He has such wisdom. He was already talking about the Blitz bombings in London that he'd lived through, and how we would make it through this as a nation. We got a hold of Ryan's parents and reassured them we were all fine. As the day wore on, other friends called. Some of them ones we don't hear from very often. Just wanting to verify we were ok. Did you know anyone affected? I felt so funny answering that. We are all affected! And I felt thankful and yet guilty when I answered "no, we don't know of any friend or family member injured or missing or dead."

Our little house reacted differently to the events of the day, yet we were all dealing with the tragedy in our own way. My husband eventually turned to his work, setting up his laptop at the dining room table. My sister went to play a game of tennis with her boyfriend. At the time, I was furious with them both for doing anything other than mourning and trying to make sense of the day. But that was my way of dealing with it, that day, in full force, and I later realized that everyone deals with tragedy differently --- that they too were profoundly saddened and moved but they were recharging their emotional batteries so they could comfort me --- as I would later do for them. I realized how much my husband processes emotional things even while he is working. A true multi-tasker. My sister can only take so much of these major issues at one time, but she is such a strong soldier for the "duration" of emotional pains and has always taken care of me without a thought for herself.

The day faded into night, nothing but a fog. We had the television on up in Viv's room, the news showing people with photos of family members begging for any news. One woman was our age and had a wedding photo of her husband. I broke down and wept again for her. Eventually, my sister turned off the t.v. and said we had to collect ourselves and go get some dinner. We all set out in the car, and for the first time in all our time living in the D.C. area, the streets were empty. Tysons mall was closed, lights were off, there was no traffic anywhere. Tysons and Falls Church were like a ghost town. We finally ended up at "Chicken Out" and I ate for the first time since that morning. The food just all sort of mushed around in my mouth. I can't really remember what I ate, but it was smooth like mashed potatoes or soup. I couldn't take anything beyond that.

We went home again and got ready for bed. My husband and I just held each other, and I lit a candle. Sort of a personal vigal of sorts. I don't remember falling asleep. My body just finally shut itself down.

The next day I woke up feeling numb and disoriented. For a split second I asked myself whether it had really happened? And before my rational brain could say yes, my stomach answered with that same knot from the day before. That was the only answer I needed. It was real, and would stay real. We donated money to the United Way funds, splitting our donation between New York and D.C. We wanted to give blood, but soon learned so sadly that there was apparently not nearly the need for it that had been anticipated. Could we pack anything up for the relief workers? Turns out dealing with all the donations was becoming a logistical nightmare. I wrung my hands at the inability to DO something, ANYTHING. We set about finding flags for our cars. We made little red, white and blue ribbon pins for our lapels. At least that was something. Every bridge in D.C. and Virginia around where we live had flags and posters up. Some of the tiny silver lining in all of this was beginning to show through.

The next few months would be an education for us, and for a lot of the country I suppose. Suddenly the world felt smaller. The newspaper articles about things in foreign lands mattered a lot more. I knew I needed to educate myself much more than I had in the past about muslims and Islam, the Middle East, and terrorism in general. I spent a lot of time reading anything I could get my hands on about terrorism. I began to have nightmares about bioterrorism. I emailed the CDC and Virginia health care workers about getting vaccinated against small pox and anthrax. The return emails alone were enough to convince me that my family and I, as members of the general public, were sitting ducks. Should we sell our house, located just outside D.C.? Should we go ahead with our plans to move abroad for two years for Ryan's work? Should we bring a baby into this world? I wanted answers to all of these questions, but they wouldn't come right away. And questions like those were second to the suffering and tragedy of all of the victims. There were days I felt angry, days I felt sad, days I felt vulnerable, days that I wept for our country. I tried, and actually today -- a year later, still do, pray for individuals when I hear their stories. Each could have been me or my family --- but the more important thing is that it was someone, and everyone in this world is important and so undeserving of such a cowardly, stupid, despicable human act.