Confronting a hard truth
A lot has changed in fifteen years. In fact, the entire trajectory of my life changed because of that gorgeous Tuesday morning.
The memories I have of that day are not particularly intriguing, but they are etched in my mind unlike any other moment. It truly feels like yesterday- the details are so vivid. I woke up early to go to the gym. This was not something I normally did, but I was trying my best to work through some intense anxiety and depression as I entered my senior year of college. I was stressed about my final year, my grandmother and my favorite professor were both dying of cancer, and I felt like I had no control over my life. The gym seemed like a good place to start out the semester. The sky was the beautiful shade of blue that everyone from the NY metro area recalls. The late summer air was cool, with the hint of autumn. I checked into the gym, got on the elliptical and looked at the TV. I watched in horror as the attack unfolded before me. Most concerning to me was the lack of response from my fellow gym goers. When the second place crashed, I screamed out loud. No one else reacted. Was I dreaming? This all felt so wrong. I ran out of the gym as fast as I could, back to my apartment.
I woke up my roommate, turned on the TV and watched. I called my professor to tell him I wasn't making it to class. I knew this wasn't good. I called my mom and told her she needed to turn on the TV. I started crying, thinking about all of those people on the planes. I tried to figure out how the people above the impact would get out of the building-then it hit me hard. I knew they wouldn't. The buildings looked wrong. I screamed. That scream haunts me- I have never made a sound like that in my life. The buildings were coming down. This feeling of terror, I knew this was terrorism. That's what they want you to feel, the way I felt that morning. The way I still feel today as I try to recount my experience. That was when I lost my innocence.
This morning, I took my oldest son to church after his first Sunday school class, and as we walked between buildings, we were confronted by this enormous tribute. A flag for every life lost was planted into the grounds of the parish. It took my breath away.
My son asked me for an explanation. How do you explain that day? I paused and knew that I had to share the truth with him. This wasn't something I could brush off- the impact of those flags was too great.
I don't know if I said the right things, but I was honest. I got down to his level and held him as we talked. I told him that we must share kindness and not hatred. I said that we must pay tribute to the lives that were lost with loving actions.
I changed on September 11, 2001. It was the catalyst for long and painful process that took me to some pretty dark places. I ended relationships, started new ones, changed my plans for senior year by postponing graduation and reexamined my career plans. These decisions led me to where I am today. My life today is not what I had planned for on September 10, 2001. I can only hope that I am living a life that honors and respects the victims of 9/11 and their families.
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