Seven years ago the world – my world – changed forever. I know I’m not alone in this, I’m not stupid. In fact, there are countless others who lost more. Not that I really ‘lost’ anything, or anyone. I was simply a bystander, a voyeur to what was happening. I was over 2,000 miles away, watching the events unfold on live television, and I didn’t know anyone that lived in (or even near) New York. And yet, my life will never be the same.
I worked for UPS at the time, and had just arrived for the day when one of my co-workers asked me if I’d heard. “Heard what?” I asked. “A plane hit the World Trade Center this morning!” This was at about five minutes to 7:00. Nobody in the call center had really reacted yet, although there was an eerie energy seen and felt from the management team as they exchanged the bits and pieces of knowledge that they’d heard on the radio on the drive into work.
Then we heard about the second tower, and someone whispered that it couldn’t possibly have been an accident. the “terrorism” word fell flatly from their lips, and immediately silenced all of our hushed conversations and speculation.
Within minutes, it seemed, a television broadcasting CNN had been set up in one of the conference rooms. There would bea steady stream of people that flowed through the room for the rest of the day. They came in, curious and anxious to hear the latest news, and stayed only as long as they could bear to watch the scene unfold over and over, and over again.
Then news came of the Flight 77 and the Pentagon. I recall very clearly that this was the exact moment my world shifted from blissful ignorance and the security of the routine into a scary realization of how vulnerable I was. It wasn’t a realization of mortality - I’ve been pretty clear about that for a long time now. It was more a realization that every day, every moment, is truly an unknown.
Then as we watched, and undoubtedly the rest of the world watched with us, the south tower collapsed. Without the CNN anchor having to tell us, we all knew that the building was still full of people, and we had just watched them die. Thirty minutes later, the north tower collapsed as well.
The remainder of the day was a blur of numb conversation that meant nothing. I just wanted to get home and touch Megan and Stefahn, and tell them very simply and sincerely how much I loved and valued them.
I’d heard my parents and teachers tell of the day JFK was shot, and how they remembered everything about that day, especially where they were and what they were doing at the moment they heard. I thought I had experienced that bizzare moment of clarity in 1986 when the Challenger exploded just over a minute into it’s launch. The truth is, although I recall that moment very clearly, it was a mere ripple in a still pond compared to the crushing wave of emotion and realization that overwhelmed me on that September day.
Since that day, I have had 3 or four ‘perfect’ days – days where I knew I had fulfilled my purpose and given the best I had to offer, and that Megan and Stefahn both knew without a doubt that I loved them. Until that day, I had never had even one day that I would call ‘perfect’. For this, I will always be grateful to the teachers from September 11, 2001.
I’ve found that even now, years later, it’s very easy to villify the 19 Islamic men. Perhaps that makes it more understandable, this act of ‘violence’. I do my best not to view them that way. I try to look at them as men devoted to a cause, willing to do whatever it took.
I had a conversation with a friend a few years ago. He asserted that we should be doing more to “teach love” and peace. If the Islamic Fundamentalists had only felt and understood love, 9/11 would never have happened. It sounds reasonable, but who’s to say that they weren’t showing love? For those who subscribe to the christian viewpoint (or are at least familiar with the Old Testament), consider this example: Did Abraham not love Isaac? And yet, he was willing to sacrifice him to serve his God. Perhaps those 19 men are not so different. Perhaps flying planes into buildings is the most loving thing they knew to do.
I guess in that respect my world has changed as well. I wok hard not to judge other people. I know that I really suck at not judging, especially when I’m driving and have decided that just about every other person on the road is a self-important asshole filled to the brim with entitlement. Really, though, I have no way of knowing what their words or actions may mean, or what is truly intended. I can only accept them for what they are, and give my best in return.
I know that’s it’s been seven years, and “time heals all wounds”, as the saying goes. I didn’t lose anyone that I knew personally in the attacks on September 11, 2001, but I am different, and better, because of what those 19 men did.
“Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.”
Khalil Gibran, The Prophet
