9/11

There are just a few big news events that have happened in my lifetime that I remember where I was and what I was doing. The Space Shuttle Challenger disaster, Ronald Reagan’s assassination attempt, and probably a few others. For me, nothing shook me to the very core of my being as much as the events of 9/11/01. I was in the final weeks of my first pregnancy and completing 3 long months of waiting between my former life (graduate school) and my future life (mother). I was in the beginnings of post partum depression even though my son was still 3 weeks from arrival.

I was at home that morning. I was alone. I was having breakfast in the living room, watching the Today show, and planning my morning, which consisted of going to the store to pick up D’s birthday present. He was at work. Like millions of others, I watched the coverage in shock. I went ahead with my plans, but arrived back home before I knew D would be gettting home for lunch. One of the most vivid memories I have of that day is of D, leaning with one arm outstretched against the woodwork in our foyer. He was watching the TV and crying. I just remember him saying “This is awful.”

I remember being insanely worried about my family across the country and about my friends who lived in Washington. I remember that feeling of being afraid to turn on the TV because I didn’t know if something more terrible could happen. The way the news happened that morning, with first one plane, then another, then another, and another... I remember feeling like there was another shoe out there, just waiting to drop.

My best friend was living overseas at the time. I remember talking to her on the phone and telling her that I wanted the news coverage to stop. I didn’t want to hear any more. I just had an intense desire, and need, really, for the world to go back to the way it was. Facing a tremendous life change as it was, I didn’t need the stark reality of how cruel the world can be to be thrown in my face every time I turned the TV on.

It saddens me to think that my children will grow up in the suspicious, damaged, frightened culture that is post-9/11 America. I want them to enjoy the freedom and innocence I knew as a child. And what frightens me even more is the thought that perhaps they could witness tragedy even worse than 9/11/01. It seems unimagineable, but could anyone have imagined the events of that day?