Why Today? Why September 11th?

I remember asking my friends that question while we were walking home. We were scared and confused, but we truly had no grasp on the gravity of the situation.

Sept. 11, 2001, wasn’t a typical school day from the start. At the time, I was a senior in high school. I attended Cathedral High School, an all-girl prep school, in mid-town Manhattan, approximately four miles from the World Trade Center.

That morning, our teachers were outside, picketing. I think they were protesting their poor salary, but in all honesty, I cannot remember; I was entirely too consumed in my own teenage life to care. The classrooms didn’t have teachers, so we basically sat around and talked. Not the best way to spend the day, considering our parents were paying a hefty tuition to send us there, but I digress.

A fellow student received a phone call. Someone bombed the World Trade Center. Hmm. That’s strange. Why on Earth would someone do that? I thought. After about five minutes of speculation, we turned on the television that was in the classroom. It was grainy, but what I remember seeing was the first tower and that plume of smoke you see in 9/11 images. That doesn’t look like it was bombed.

Shortly thereafter, the entire school—all 1,200 of us—were summoned to the gymnasium.

The World Trade Center was attacked. A plane flew into one of the towers. What? Who? How? Why? Many, if not most, of the people in our school lived near the WTC or knew someone, directly or indirectly, who was near Ground Zero. Our principal at the time, Sister Elizabeth, sent us home, one class level at a time. The seniors left first.

I was with my friends Ashley, Jackie, Jessica, and Vivian. We started heading north, because thankfully, we all lived in the upper east side of Manhattan, within a few miles of school. I say “thankfully,” because just a month prior, I was living in the Bronx, and that would have been a really long walk.

When we were walking home, I remember thinking how I felt like we were plucked out of our everyday lives and placed onto a movie set.

I remember seeing hundreds of people walking in the streets and sidewalks. Public transportation, something New Yorkers rely very heavily on, was shut down. Cars were stagnant in the road. People were gathered in random stores and businesses, glued to the television. We were even stopped on our walk home by the Red Cross, asking that we donate blood. That night, Ashley and I had tickets to go to an O-Town in concert. (Oh, yeah. I’ll admit it. I loved me some O-Town. Whatever happened to those pretty boys, anyway?) The concert, however, wasn’t even a blip on the radar for us; we wanted to know what in the world was going on.

Vivian got home first; she lived closer to the school than the rest of us. We kept going, and I was the next to get home. I found my mother, glued to the television. When she heard me put my bag down, she hugged me the tightest I’ve ever been hugged, and we continued to watch the footage. (My mother had worked near the World Trade Center at the American Stock Exchange. If you don’t know, it is just blocks away. She even used to have lunch at the Windows On The World restaurant in the North Tower of the WTC.) Then I saw the recap of what I had missed on my walk home.

Watching the south tower being hit by that airliner will forever be emblazoned in my mind. Ten years later, it still sends chills up my spine. Up until recent years, I couldn’t watch 9/11 footage or documentaries without bursting into tears. When I lived in D.C. in 2009, I remember driving by the Pentagon and feeling completely awestruck by how close the Pentagon is to the highway. I remember thinking how horrifying it must’ve been to see the plane basically falling out of the sky.

In 2001, I worked in a supermarket in the upper east side of Manhattan. Firemen from several engine and ladder companies shopped at this specific supermarket, to my surprise and delight. (We won’t even get into the majorly huge crush I had on this particular redhead. My husband probably would not appreciate it all that much.) After September 11, New York City firemen were celebrities in their own right. I remember people stopping the firemen in the supermarket, thanking them for their service. People would scream, shout, and clap for the firetrucks driving by.

I remember seeing candlelight vigils on random sidewalks. One of the more painful memories I have is seeing all the “Missing Person” posters. Gosh. They were everywhere. Death tends to remind you to be thankful you’re alive. We owe a debt of gratitude to those who gave their lives that day and the days following. From those who were on search and rescue missions, recovery missions, and the clean up process. They were, and are, truly appreciated. To the families of those who were on the planes, words cannot express our collective sorrow, and our hearts go out to you.

It is almost exactly ten years later, and, my, how things have changed. I am a military spouse now, and I see how powerful our freedoms are and how privileged we are as Americans. I don’t think I ever truly appreciated how important our military is and how actively they try to protect us until we got to Seoul. Sure, I am and have always been thankful for our freedoms, and my husband is a wonderful soldier, but before we got here, I was never in another country, much less another country that semi-regularly protests against our troops. Despite the protests, our service members still show up for work, ready to “fight tonight,” to protect people, even those who protest it.

Ten years later, we are all different people. Every day will always be September 12th. To my friends and family in New York, you are on my mind and in my heart, especially on the 10th anniversary. Specifically Ashley, Jackie, Jessica, and Vivian—wherever you may be in life, whenever I think of that horrific day, your strength, humor, and love will always be my silver lining.