I got this idea over at The Examining Room of Dr. Charles. It's an excellent recount of where he was on 9/11/01 and also a great poem. It got me to thinking...Where was I? I was working at the doctors office . We were in the middle of the morning round of working up patients. I heard a patient in the waiting room saying something happened in New York - at the World Trade Center; then someone said that they were watching it on a TV over in the optical shop. I made my way over there and caught a replay of the 1st plane hitting the tower. Unbelievable, this couldn't of happened. Then as more and more news came in about it, the 2nd tower, the planes were from Boston. Boston Mayor shutting down city, telling people to go home. I'm starting to get worried now, teary. My 7 yr. old son is at school - will he be okay? if (?)something more(?) happens?? What about my husband in Boston? I call, he's not leaving; the bar is full; yes isn't that always where people head.
Us techs were lingering in the hall as we do, filling out charts, chatting (usually about much more mundane things) but now somberly discussing events. The doctor that I am working with that morning notices - what? - the worried look? the tears still in my eyes? or was it fear? that sick feeling I felt for days/weeks after. He kindly looked at me and asked, no told me, " are you ok?you can go if you want to." But I stayed and worked up the patients; I don't remember a thing about that day, but the TV and the tower and the smoke.
Wait, I lied, wrote that yesterday, just came back to edit.
I remember coming home to my house , where I was about to embark on some remodel project and thinking should I bother, does it matter? I also remember having to go to the hospital for some bloodwork/ pre-op tests for my impending gall bladder surgery and wanting desperately to be giving blood, or volunteering to go to NY - to be doing something! I remember watching the wonderful concerts and calling in my contribution and feeling is this all I can do?
And the stories: My husband's sister's son worked in that building and was late for work that day - but his mother was down in Washington on a business trip with her husband and couldn't get him on the phone and couldn't get a flight out, so they rented a car and started driving back. She finally got in touch with him that night. My cousin's friend had business in the Tower that day but got there after the plane had hit and then spent the rest of the day trying to get back to NJ. I know there are countless stories like this.
"There for the grace of G-d go I".
8 years ago
5 comments:
I agree -- everyone does have a story. It's the 21st Century version of "Where were you when Kennedy was shot?" I can see things just as vividly today as I can five years ago -- and remember every emotion.
- Matt
Thanks for sharing your story. And, thanks for stopping by my blog. Thought I would do the same. I've enjoyed your blog and I'm going to add you to my links, if that's ok.
We live by O'Hare -- usually the world's busiest airport -- and what my wife recalls, more than anything, was the quiet. There were no planes for days. And Youngest Son chipped that there were too planes -- military planes -- occasionally -- and every time one flew over the school playground there was instant commotion. What's happening? Is something else going on? But it was mostly quiet. And eerily so.
I woke to an increased volume on the TV that my sons left on when they went to school. I’d been up late working on a paper for a Gothic Literature class. It was surreal. I was delivering a paper on “the uncanny” that day…delivery didn’t go well because I was caught in the web of the very thing that I was trying to articulate. Ultimately, I dropped that class, couldn’t deal with the subject matter at that time.
got here late, but wanted to tell you quickly, my 9/11 story. I was away from home---in St John's Newfoundland and I got to see the warmest most hospitable place in the world swing into action, welcoming and caring for people whose planes were forced down in St John's. Little outports sent schoolbusses to bring people to their homes; restaurants just fed people whose currency was no good; people in minivans showed up at hotels to see if they could help people who were sleeping in the lobby. Very uplifting.
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