Remembering that Dreadful Day

Do you remember where you were when you first heard a plane struck one of the Twin Towers?

Did you immediately flip on the T.V. and begin watching it?

Did you call someone else and tell them to turn the on T.V.?

Were you watching it live when you saw the second plane strike the other tower?

Did you see people jumping to escape the heat, fire and smoke?

Were you watching as the towers fell?

Were you glued to the T.V. the rest of the day? And for a good part of the next several days?

If you’re like me, you can answer YES to all of these questions.  I remember that day like it was last week.  It’s hard to believe it has been 10 years since that dreadful day.

I feel a special kinship to New Yorkers, since I lived there for a few years.  I feel as though I am an adopted New Yorker. 

I lived in lower Manhattan.  I often used the Twin Towers as a guide to get my bearings, especially when exiting a subway hole. 

When I lived in Brooklyn, I always tried to spot the World Trade Centers from roof tops and high vantage points.  They were magnificent!  They towered above everything around them.  They were the King and Queen of Downtown.

I never imagined they would fall.  I assumed the firefighters would eventually put out the fires.  When they fell, it was like someone stabbed me with a knife.  I remember covering my mouth in awe and being in shock.  I couldn’t speak.  I felt tears begin to burn my eyes.

Oh, those poor people inside them…those poor people on the ground around them.  They also never expected them to fall.

Although, I don’t know of any friends or acquaintances that I lost on that day, I did have friends and friends of friends who lived and worked in and around the area.  I was thankful to hear they were all safe.

My father-in-law worked in a building near the Pentagon.  Fortunately he was far enough away from the destruction and was kept safe. 

Whenever I see a program on T.V. about 9/11, I’m glued to it, like I was on that dreadful day.  I relive the pain. 

Will we ever completely heal?  Those of us that remember it like I do, will never completely heal from it.  When we die and get to the other side, I want to shake the hands of the first responders and thank them for their valiant efforts.  I want to witness the reunion, of those that died in that attack, with their families and friends they left behind.  And then, finally, I think my emotional wounds will be healed.