Remembering 9/11

Everyone has their story. This is mine.
That beautiful September morning began as almost any other.
After feeding her breakfast and packing her lunch, with coffee cup in hand I walked Molly to the school bus and returned home to feed the dogs prior to heading out for my regular Tuesday round of golf. As it is every weekday morning, our little TV in the kitchen was tuned to The Today Show with Matt Lauer and Katie Couric who announced they had some breaking news. As I stood there watching the thick, black smoke pouring from the World Trade Center, wondering along with everyone else what exactly was happening, Katie Couric said something about a small plane hitting the tower. My first thought was that there was no way a small plane could have caused that kind of damage, there had to be jet fuel involved.
Then the second plane hit.
And at that very moment, I just knew.
"Terrorists!"
The word tumbled off my tongue as if there were someone there to hear besides the dogs. In somewhat of a daze, I instinctively went to the front hall closet, retrieved our American flag, unfurled it and placed it in the bracket on our front porch.

My next thought of course was of my family, particularly my son Billy, who was assigned to The USS Vella Gulf, a guided missile cruiser based in Norfolk, VA where they were in the final stages of preparation for a regularly scheduled 6 month deployment. He had enlisted in the US Navy and left for The Great Lakes Naval Training Center on January 3rd of that year, completed boot camp in March followed by 'A' School where he trained to become an Operations Specialist. He married in May and had just moved to Norfolk with his bride of barely three months.
Not knowing how to reach him on board the ship, I immediately called my daughter-in-law who was unaware of what was happening in New York. She turned on her TV, tried unsuccessfully to call Billy and called me back in near hysterics after learning that every ship in Norfolk had left the base for God-knows-where.
I assured her it was probably a precaution to avoid another Pearl Harbor type scenario, but there was no consoling her and I certainly understood her tears and fears.
I also understood the world as we knew it would be forever changed.
Though it was days before I was able to hear the sound of my son's voice, we soon learned that his ship left immediately for New York City where they were told to be prepared to shoot down civilian aircraft if it came to that. Billy said the guys on the screens in the Operations Center were sweating bullets but thankfully never had to execute any such horrifying order. They spent four days in the waters off New York before returning to Norfolk and leaving for the deployment the likes of which none of them ever anticipated.
One day they were looking forward to cruising the Mediterranean and the next, as Billy, with his voice cracking so sadly stated, "It's off to war we go."
And so it was for the remainder of his 4 year enlistment.

It's been impossible to turn on the TV this week and avoid any reference to today's 10th anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center, The Pentagon and had it not been for those brave souls on Flight 93, an unknown target in Washington, D.C.

As I've watched the extensive coverage of the memorials at Ground Zero, that ghostly field in Shanksville, PA and the Pentagon, I'll admit to the shedding of tears. The stories that have surfaced in the last ten years are at the very least, mesmerizing. I'm grateful to both the media for their excellent coverage and the survivors who were willing to speak. There is much to be learned from their insufferable losses and their experiences of recovery.

Is it possible to watch the child of anyone killed on that day speak and not tear up at their pain? On Friday, Matt Lauer played a clip from his 2001 interview with a young boy who'd lost his firefighter father on that awful day and as I watched this child choking back his tears, trying to be as brave as his father surely was, I could not control the flood of tear drops that cascaded down my cheeks into my morning coffee. 

I'm thinking that if I still feel this way after 10 years, I'll probably react that same way in another 5, 10 or even 20 years if I'm still around and even can remember!

Thousands were lost that sad September day and thousands more in the years since as our military fights to prevent such terror attacks from occurring again on our soil. My high school classmate Paula lost her beloved husband, Bob Minara. He was a firefighter, just doing his job, doing what heroes always do - running toward danger while everyone else runs away from it. Although I never met Bob, I think of them both constantly.

And I'll admit to being very proud that my son, though he never wanted to go to war, played a small part in our efforts to go after those responsible for the horror that was inflicted on our country 10 years ago.

Remember?

Always!