story1290.xml

story1290.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-08-20

At 5:45 in the morning, pacific time, I, like many people who didn't have to work early, was still in bed. My dad had just left for work and my mother was watching the today show in the living room. I didn't hear her reaction to the news of the first plane, but, at what must have been 6:01 am, she came and told me that a plane had crashed into one of the WTC Towers. I couldn't believe it, I sat there for a long time with my mouth agape. As the horror of it began to register, I jumped out of bed screaming questions at my mom that I knew she probably couldn't have answered. What was it? Was it a cessna or a 727 type? Was it a Boeing? Please say it isn't a Boeing!!! Was it hijacked? Are there more? What about the people? Can they get out? What time is it in New York? I ran down the hall to the living room. As soon as I got there, there were pictures coming across of another plane. I remember thinking 'Why are they still letting planes..fly....'. It was at that point that the planes engines roared and the plane banked left, right into the other Tower. Even if they hadn't shown that scene a millions times since, that is a sight that I will never forget.

Until that point I had never seen anyone die. I had seen corpses and had even seen my dog put to sleep, but not another human once living, then gone. I couldn't comprehend it. And they used a Boeing! They used one of My Planes, planes built by my friends and neighbors, to do their evil work. Those planes where the best, in great condition, and built to carry people from destination to destination safely. NOT TO BE USED AS MISSILES! After the smoke cleared from the strike, the cameras started panning over both buildings, showing people hanging out of their windows. They were showing dead people, there was no way that the firemen were going to make it up the stairs before the smoke got to those people. I can't remember the first speck I saw, these specks were standing out to me because they were falling faster than the paper and misc. materials in the air. After about 10 minutes of seeing these specks, it began to dawn on me. People were jumping. A strange mix of emotions came with that realization incl: anger, sadness, bewilderment, confusion, and a little bit of pride. It seems strange now, that I would feel pride that people were committing suicide, but really they weren't, they had resigned themselves to their fate. Instead of waiting for the inevitable, they,with what control they had left, took their destiny into their own hands.

Being very interested in foreign affairs, it took me about a minute after I comprehended that this was an attack, to figure out who most likely was behind this, even before the news confirmed it. IT was the only living person I believed to have the capabilities and the pure anger to do this.

By 6:40 am my mind was running at hyperspeed. Is Franz (my cousin) still working at the WTC Towers? No, he isn't he's home. Do I know anyone who might be in New York? What about Josh, Bobby, all my friends online? (all ok). I would run all these questions through my head, and more, and rerun them continuously almost. Then came another shock, a plane struck the Pentagon. Our most secure building, the center of our military actions, had a gaping fiery hole in it's side. My anger doubled in that moment. That SOB!! if all IT wanted to do was to start a war, IT didn't have to attack the WTC Towers. I know that the lives lost at the Pentagon were just as valuable and horrific as those lost in the WTC, but it was more understandable that they were soldiers, and soldiers die. Regular people, they don't die sitting behind there desk, they aren't trained for anything like that. The Pentagon victims died because they were soldiers, the WTC victims died because they showed up for work.

And then WE got one. At 7:12 am the news started carrying pictures of a plane crash site in PA. It didn't hit anyone or anything important on the ground, according to reports, it lost altitude quickly and started pitching and shaking. Knowing a little about planes, and knowing the weather was perfect for flying, as they described it, it couldn't have been weather, or mechanical error that put that plane down. The news started releasing reports of cell phone and airphone calls made from that planes passengers to their families. All these reports indicated that some of the passengers had tried to overtake the pilot and captors. I knew it, WE, plain everyday Americans, got one. It was decided, live or die, that that plane was not going to reach its intended location. I was never prouder to be an American as on Sept. 11th.

The final boons to my horror and anger came when one, than the other tower fell. Thousands of people had died right in front of me, many of them firefighters, police, and other people who were fighting to get up the stairs that everyone else was running down. I spent days hoping that rescuers would hit an air pocket and find some people, but the logical side of me should have known better, that was a billion tons of building that fell on those people. Reporters waited at hospitals, speaking to people whose loved ones were missing, and showing the empty gurnees that waited for anyone, JUST ONE!! to show up. Cantor Fitzgerald, and other companies, set up places for the families to wait and get the latest information. For companies located above the impact zone, it seems fruitless now for the families to have hoped for a better outcome, but what else did they have at that point. Everyone was in shock, even hours after it had happened, no one could believe that it could happen.

I only started to cry after the towers fell. Before then there was a chance for more people to get out. Before then there was hope. After, there was nothing. Maybe a few air pockets, maybe an elevator, but not enough to save everyone possible. I cried hard for days on end. I was scared and confused in the days that followed, it didn't help that the military was flying patterns over my house, trying to protect the Boeing facility from attack, every half hour or so. It also wasn't easy that we moved 2 days after the attacks, but it gave me a chance to think of something else.

I am not ashamed to admit that I went to a psychiatrist to help deal with my emotions over Sept. 11th, I am also not ashamed to admit that I still cry at even the thought of Sept. 11th. In many cultures around the world, grieving is given its course. Years are devoted to the process of grieving, in some cases family members are not allowed to work for months, years to aid in the healing. I am ok with seeking treatment and crying, because I now understand that it is ok to allow your heart as much time as is needed for it to heal.