story1930.xml
Title
story1930.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2002-09-08
911DA Story: Story
"We're at war!", words spoken with such despair by my mother on the phone, is my foremost recollection of 9/11. My morning routine typically consisted of getting up with my daughters and sending them off to school, then reading the paper while watching "Today". On this particular morning, however, I decided to go back to bed. (My husband's birthday was the day before. Since he had to work second shift on his natal day, I waited up for him. Hence, the going back to bed.)
When I awoke the second time, my husband and I shared breakfast, talked about how we would celebrate his birthday in grand style on the 12th (since he also had to pull a shift on the 11th; he's a sheriff's lieutenant, by the way)
and he went about his task of refurbishing a shed outside. I puttered away in the house, still with the TV off. Then the phone rang. This was the end of normalcy.
"With who? Where?" were my exasperated responses to my mom's news. "Are you watching it? Turn on the TV!" She cried. When I asked which station, she blurted out, "Any!"
And there it was: the smoking skyline of New York. It was hard to tell at first what wasn't on fire; mom thought bombs were being dropped. We remained silent on the line while we each stared at our respective screens. The World Trade Centers had been hit. Then she told me a piece of unsettling news: my brother, who was celebrating his own birthday with a little weekend getaway to New York, stayed an extra day and was in those very towers less than 24 hours prior to this atrocity. "Oh my God! Is he home? Is he safe?" Yes, I was told, his flight was nearly cancelled due to bad weather but made it out very late Monday evening.
Promising to stay in touch with her, I hung up. I needed my husband to see this. I ran out to the shed, yelling how New York looked like a scene from "Independence Day". Only it wasn't aliens doing the devestation; it was humans. We were riveted to the TV for the next several hours, til my husband had to go into work. I worried for him, thinking that surely the Sheriff's Department would be doubly busy that night. Uniforms never get to stay on the hanger.
I debated getting my girls from school but figured they were OK.I decided to do what I had planned on doing: picking up my husband's favorite pizza, his birthday meal of choice, at a carry-out place in Milwaukee some 40 miles away. It was near the airport. Quite unnerving. The car radio played no music; only talk. How could such a gorgeous day have such a terrible pall cast over it? What-ifs raced through my head: what if they close the city and I'm stuck here? How will I get to my kids? Funny how the mind works. Police cars were everywhere and newscarriers were hawking special editions of the Journal/Sentinel on street corners. I didn't get one. I made my journey there and back without incident, save for the pounding in my chest and the wondering of what was yet to come. It was on the ride home that I noticed the American flags, draping from houses and businesses alike. It was still there, just like in the song.
And we would be too, a little shaken but we'd regroup.
My daughters were home by 3:30 and once I had them back in my sight, breathing came a little easier.
When I awoke the second time, my husband and I shared breakfast, talked about how we would celebrate his birthday in grand style on the 12th (since he also had to pull a shift on the 11th; he's a sheriff's lieutenant, by the way)
and he went about his task of refurbishing a shed outside. I puttered away in the house, still with the TV off. Then the phone rang. This was the end of normalcy.
"With who? Where?" were my exasperated responses to my mom's news. "Are you watching it? Turn on the TV!" She cried. When I asked which station, she blurted out, "Any!"
And there it was: the smoking skyline of New York. It was hard to tell at first what wasn't on fire; mom thought bombs were being dropped. We remained silent on the line while we each stared at our respective screens. The World Trade Centers had been hit. Then she told me a piece of unsettling news: my brother, who was celebrating his own birthday with a little weekend getaway to New York, stayed an extra day and was in those very towers less than 24 hours prior to this atrocity. "Oh my God! Is he home? Is he safe?" Yes, I was told, his flight was nearly cancelled due to bad weather but made it out very late Monday evening.
Promising to stay in touch with her, I hung up. I needed my husband to see this. I ran out to the shed, yelling how New York looked like a scene from "Independence Day". Only it wasn't aliens doing the devestation; it was humans. We were riveted to the TV for the next several hours, til my husband had to go into work. I worried for him, thinking that surely the Sheriff's Department would be doubly busy that night. Uniforms never get to stay on the hanger.
I debated getting my girls from school but figured they were OK.I decided to do what I had planned on doing: picking up my husband's favorite pizza, his birthday meal of choice, at a carry-out place in Milwaukee some 40 miles away. It was near the airport. Quite unnerving. The car radio played no music; only talk. How could such a gorgeous day have such a terrible pall cast over it? What-ifs raced through my head: what if they close the city and I'm stuck here? How will I get to my kids? Funny how the mind works. Police cars were everywhere and newscarriers were hawking special editions of the Journal/Sentinel on street corners. I didn't get one. I made my journey there and back without incident, save for the pounding in my chest and the wondering of what was yet to come. It was on the ride home that I noticed the American flags, draping from houses and businesses alike. It was still there, just like in the song.
And we would be too, a little shaken but we'd regroup.
My daughters were home by 3:30 and once I had them back in my sight, breathing came a little easier.
Collection
Citation
“story1930.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed January 9, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/9415.