...Let's Roll...

　
"When I despair, I remember that all through history the ways of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants, and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall. Think of it---always." ~Mahatma Gandhi

http://youtu.be/-2nA08T3TWQ [My video tribute of the memories of September 11, 2001]


My A.B. asked me the other day if I would write a blog entry to commemorate 9-11-01. I told her that I was thinking about it, but it was hard. Those thoughts, feelings, and images from 10 years ago are still so palpably raw, when one stops to consider them. It’s difficult to think about it for too long before the hopeless, helpless feelings of despair, we all felt as a nation, take hold of me again and spiral me right back to that one, unbelievable moment in time. Tragically, we watched the nightmare unfolding before our eyes –another Pearl Harbor–OUR Pearl Harbor – another date which will live in infamy for all who bore witness to the horrifying sights and sounds of, what started out to be a beautiful September day.
"Please a.b., think about it!" Karen said to me. [I’m her a.b. too] "I’d really like to read your reflections of it."
I felt a sigh come after I’d hung up the phone. Thinking about doing something and actually doing it are two very different things, as you all well know. I’ve been in a funk the last month, as the result of a recent fall, and I didn’t know if I wanted to go to that dark place of grief that I would have to go to in order to write an honest perspective on those events from a decade ago. But, I knew that I was going to go there anyway as the day approached, so, I decided to spend a few days gathering my thoughts.
I kept thinking about that day, on and off these last few days, as I tried to find the words to honor those who lost their lives on that day, and how our country, collectively, felt in its aftermath. Anyone who lived through it can probably recall with precise detail, every moment of September 11^th, 2001. As my mind slowly wandered back to that place of shock and horror, I wondered what I should title this entry?
Names are very important! A lot is revealed in a name. After careful consideration, I chose something that I’d heard said on that fateful day so long ago yet not so long ago. It’s funny how time can do that to you - make it feel both long and short in its span...
The comment was amazing, given the implication it carried. I kept hearing the words of Todd Beamer, a passenger on Flight 93, rattle around and hum in my mind. The words persisted in churning. They stayed with me.
"Let’s roll..." he had said before the passengers of United Flight 93 decided to re-take control of the plane from its hijackers no matter what the personal cost to them. Another sigh and fresh tears come as that thought vibrates and resonates deep within me. Thinking about that, and what those words meant and how much courage he, and the others who joined him, had in order to allow that emotion to override the unfathomable fear they must have all been experiencing in those terrifying moments, truly defines the American spirit that President John F. Kennedy’s words 40 years earlier, in his inaugural address, exemplified:
Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and the success of liberty."
"Let’s roll!" Todd Beamer said, and they did.
There is a resignation, coupled with a purposeful intent, defined in those words as well as courage – a BIG dose of courage! He knew what was going on–what was happening–what was going to happen. Still, he was willing to give his own life along with the other passengers of United Flight 93 to ensure that no other innocent Americans, save those on that doomed flight along with him, would perish. Faced with the choice, I didn’t know if I could do it? I’ve thought about it a lot. Then, I came to the realization, the longer and harder I thought about those words, that more than likely I could; I would. After all, if knowing that my life, which was more than likely going to end when that plane crashed, might help save the lives of countless others, I like to think that I would be as selfless as those passengers were. It’s a "giver philosophy" what Todd Beamer and all the others on that tragically fated flight had. They knew the dismal prospect before them probably wasn’t going to end very well for all of them, but they put those thoughts aside so that the hijackers on that plane would, at least, not successfully strike another one of their intended targets.
Those thoughts made me recall the scripture, John 15:13: "Greater love has no one than this: than to lay down one's life for his friends." On that day, September 11^th, 2001, we all became friends. I would go so far as to say that we became family, if only for that moment in time.
So, I decided to call this entry the words used by Todd Beamer, before the passengers of United Flight 93 purposefully downed that aircraft. I’ve placed ellipsis’ at the front and end of the title for a specific reason. For those who don’t know or recall this from your high school English class, ellipsis [...] when placed at the beginning or end of a sentence, can indicate to the reader that a feeling of melancholy and longing is part of the sentiment. It calls for a slight pause in speech; it lets you know that something came before or after the thought that stands alone.
Here now, I will describe what proceeded and followed after those fateful words were uttered. These are my reflections of Tuesday, September 11, 2001:

The day began as a beautiful one. It was sunny, slightly cool with a hint of the approaching autumn in the air. It was very clear outside. There was not a hint or foreshadowing of what was about to happen later that morning. My husband left me a note by the coffee pot, something he did every morning. He left for work before I rose and always kissed me goodbye. He also always left me morning greetings, wishes for a good day and sentiments of love in a note waiting for me beside the coffee pot.
I think now how precious something like that would be to those loved ones of passengers on any one of those flights, to have been left with no important words left unspoken...
I turned on "Good Morning, America" and took my coffee out onto the balcony. For a brief moment, my morning was grounded in good thoughts and positive feelings. It began to take a turn when I got ready to leave for work. My car keys, which were normally hung on a brass hook in the kitchen, were not there. It was odd. I always put them there before I did anything else when I got home from work or from just being out. I tried to recall what would have made me detract from that routine? I went to my purse, digging through it. Nothing. I looked on the kitchen table, the bedroom dresser and the coffee table. They were no where to be found. I got more and more exasperated as my normal routine was interrupted with the chaos of looking for AWOL keys! I called work to tell them I was going to be late because I’d misplaced my keys. A co-worker told me to take a deep breath and retrace my steps from the previous evening. I thanked her for the advice and did just that. My sweater. I went to the closet and checked the pocket of the sweater I’d worn the previous day. Don’t ask me why, as I don’t recall, but they were there.
Quickly, I grabbed them, locked the bird in his cage, made certain the cat had dry food and water, and that the coffee pot and curlers were both off-unplugged. Just as I got to the television to turn it off, the news broke that the first plane had hit the World Trade Center. It was approximately ten til nine when it was reported that American Airlines Flight 11 had crashed into the North Tower.
I stood there for a moment listening as the thought, "How in the world did that happen?" came to mind. I mean, I’m not an aviator, nor an air traffic controller, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that planes don’t normally fly that close to buildings in New York City. There wasn’t a great deal of news at that point, and I didn’t have time to stand there and listen. I left for work.
It was in the car as I drove down I-270, that the radio station interrupted regular programing to tell its listeners that another plane, United Flight 175, had crashed into the second tower.
I remember thinking, "what the hell is going on?"
One was an accident. Two was something more–it was sinister. Ten minutes later, when I got to work and checked in with my co-workers, I learned that it was a suspected terrorist attack.
America, under attack? Terrorists? It sounded ludicrous!
"What are you talking about?" I remember saying to a colleague. "We’re under attack? Why? Are you sure?"
Her statement was being met with a disbelieving question.
"That’s what the news is reporting," she said.
At the time, I was a Technical Writer for a labor union in Rockville, Maryland. My father was its International Secretary Treasurer. I decided to take a moment, or so I thought, to run down to his office and see if he knew anything more about what was going on. When I got there, about 10 people were there, surrounding the circular table at one end of the room where he had a television. Everyone stood grim faced, watching. The atmosphere was one of concern.
"Good morning," I said, feeling my brow furrow. "What’s going on?"
"The news is saying that our country is under attack," my father told me. "They aren’t saying much more than that. It’s unbelievable!"
I had just heard that comment. It seemed surreal. My mouth opened but nothing came out. I couldn’t wrap my brain around the thought. I stood there with the others watching CNN tell us what they knew as soon as they knew it.
I stared at my father. His arm was folded across his chest with the elbow of the other arm resting on it. His index and third finger were pressed into his cheek, and his thumb cradled his chin. His face was stoic. His thoughts, I knew, were serious and troubled. We had colleagues at The World Trade Center that day for meetings. It was a concern.
By this time, about 9:30 in the morning, we watched in horror as it was reported that American Airlines Flight 77 had just crashed into the Pentagon. My heart skipped a beat. I had a friend who worked at the Pentagon. At twenty minutes before 10:00 a.m. there were reports of an explosion there. I excused myself to the outer office to use the phone. I called my friend and left a message on her voice mail. Then, I called my husband for good measure. He told me they were listening to it on the radio. We were both in a state of utter disbelief. He told me to call him at lunchtime or he’d try and call me. I told him I loved him and heard it returned. It calmed my nerves.
As I walked back into the office where more colleagues were congregating, I remember thinking: how many more are there? How many more planes are going to slam into our government buildings and business offices? It made me shudder. It made me more afraid.
Back in my father’s office, the news was reporting evacuations of the White House and Capitol. Our air space had been shut down, and international flights were re-directed to Mexico and Canada. One by one, those running our country were taking steps to brace itself for more imminent calamities, and getting as many of our leaders out of harm’s way as possible. Our country was defensively shutting down, trying to buttress itself from danger. This was real...no nightmare to wake up from...
We all watched, helpless, as the t.v. reporters cut back and forth between New York and Washington, showing the chaos that was erupting in both places. We saw and heard police and fire engine sirens blaring as they hastily moved toward the places in need of assistance. Buildings were burning in raging spikes of red, yellow and orange fire, as plumes of angry-looking, black, gray and white billowing smoke rose higher and higher into the air.
Throughout all of these happenings, reports continued alluding to the probability that Osama bin Laden was behind all this mayhem.
"He’s been determined to strike America," Most every reporter alleged.
I remember thinking to myself-asking myself, as I watched the destruction that had been wrought on our country that morning taking place before my eyes, how much hate does one person have to have within them in order to carry something like this out? Where does so much hate come from? Why do they choose to live in such a state of ugly, negative energy that does nothing but produce headache, heartache and sorrow with whomever comes into contact with it-with them? It boggled my mind.
I’ve known deep love. I carry that within me, but hate like what we were seeing on the t.v., is a foreign concept to me. I remember gasping as tears fell down my cheeks as we watched the screen show the falling body of someone who had decided that jumping was their only means of escaping the carnage that was raging inside the burning building. It was the only way down. There was no other way out. It was a staggering, horrifying thought.
"Oh, God!" someone cried out. It could have been me. More than likely, it was a couple of us. It was an unbearable sight. Open tears flowed as a few of us hugged one another.
Just before 10 o’clock, the South Tower fell. We all stared at the t.v., not sure or believing what we had just seen. We knew, in any event, it wasn’t good. There was a loud boom, like a deep roar of thunder, and then the building collapsed like it was nothing more than a stack of Dominoes falling to the ground. There was nothing for minutes it seemed but gray and white thick smoke churning and rising up higher into the air. When it dissipated, the space where the tower had stood just a moment before was empty - the building was gone.
"Oh, my God!" I whispered, thinking about all the people who were trapped inside that building; wondering if any could have survived that? - feeling immediate sympathy for their families.
Within minutes, we heard reporters tell us that another rogue plane, Flight 93, was heading towards Washington.
Suddenly, things were getting very, very scary. It was pandemonium! I didn’t realize, until he looked at me, that I had called out to my father.
"What Sug?" he asked, seeing the fear on my face, in my eyes. It didn’t matter that I was 38 years old. In that moment, I was scared. I wanted my father to do something. What? I didn’t know. But, he was my father, and I was afraid. He knew, as fathers do in moments like that, that I needed some kind of comfort and reassurance. He offered the best suggestion he knew to calm me.
"Why don’t you go over to my desk," he motioned his head toward the other end of the room. "And, call your mother."
My mother was in Florida as were my brother and sister.
Yes. I would call my mother. I was with my father. Nothing to worry about there. I’d spoken with my husband and knew that he was okay. I needed to talk to my mother. When I reached her, she indicted that she had been watching it too, in as much disbelief as the rest of us. We spoke for a few minutes - mostly checking on one another and expressing our love. Tearfully, I told her that I’d call her later. She told me to be careful.
When I returned to the table and asked if there had been more news, everyone said in unison that The Sears Tower in Chicago had been evacuated, and continued reports of suspected car bombs posed a large threat in New York City. I reached for my father’s hand. One of them was shaking. I don’t know if it was mine or his – it wouldn’t surprise me if both of our hands had been shaking as we held on to one another, and that’s when we heard that Flight 93 had gone down in Pennsylvania. It was just after 10:15 a.m. or close to. It was being reported that three or four passengers on the flight had not cooperated with the hijackers. Those hijackers decided to down the plane before those passengers stormed the cock pit. Make no mistake, the passengers were the catalyst for the downing of that plane not the hijackers.
It was too much. It was all too much to watch.
My father called upstairs to speak to the President of our union. Many had loved ones who worked in these government buildings which were being evacuated, people had family and friends who worked at the Pentagon, and we had colleagues who were at The World Trade Center. Our union’s President and my father decided to close the building and let employees go home so that we could make the necessary calls to try and locate our family and friends. I hung around for awhile. I didn’t want to go home by myself.
There were a handful of us still in my father’s office around 10:30 a.m., when the North Tower fell. It was another numbing thing to watch. Just like the other tower, one minute it was there, and the next minute it was gone. Poof. No more. That’s what was so astonishing - these buildings weighed tons. They were made of mortar, concrete, steel, glass, and so forth – yet, they toppled like a toy that someone had carelessly tossed to the ground. It was hard to watch it - to believe it! There was a gaping hole now, where just two hours prior, the twin towers had stood.
My head began to pound when it was reported minutes later that The Mall of America was evacuating. I remember glancing over to my father.
"What are they doing?" I asked nervously, trying to work my thoughts out. "Moving across the country taking out symbols of America?"
He sighed. "It sure looks that way," he replied. "I’ve got to get upstairs and speak with the President," he replied. "Why don’t you go on home."
"Are you going to be okay?" I asked him. I didn’t want him to go home alone either.
"I’ll probably be tied up here for a good part of the afternoon trying to find out what’s going on with our members in New York. I’ll call you later."
I gave him a hug and went back upstairs. Once I got there, a few of those who worked in my department were still there standing around a radio and listening.
"Has anything else happened?"
"Massive evacuations have started in parts of New York and D.C.," one of the Analysts said.
"This is a nightmare!" I told him.
He nodded. "Unbelievable!"
"I'm going home," I said.
As I went to gather my purse and other belongings, it was reported that five stories at the Pentagon had collapsed.
I shook my head and sat down at my desk trying to get my bearings.
"God Almighty!" I uttered. "Please help us!" Then, I called Tom and asked him if he could come home? He said they were closing their building at one, and he’d pick up some sandwiches and bring them home. I told him that was good. I couldn’t wait to see him.
I remember spending about 20 minutes on the computer, looking at articles and live news feeds of what continued to unfold in the madness that this day had become. When I saw masses of people running down the streets of New York covered in soot and dust, I shut down my computer, not wanting to see anymore. I’d seen enough carnage to last me a lifetime.
By noon, when I was leaving for home, reports came in that the airports in Los Angeles and San Francisco were closed. I remember praying to myself: "Everyone close! They can’t get at us if no one is there. Everyone go home and be safe. Amen! Amen! Amen!"
I drove quickly home. I didn’t want to be outside. The sky overhead was suddenly not safe. I remember climbing the stairs to our condo, feeling tired and worn, and thinking about the earlier morning, when I’d had coffee on my balcony and thought it was going to be a beautiful day. How far off the mark that thought seemed now, in this moment. I walked inside. Boo [the bird] and Rhiannon, [the cat] both greeted me with surprise.
"I’m as surprised as you are," I said to them both, as I dropped my purse on the table and hung my keys on the hanger in the kitchen.
I poured a Diet Pepsi, took two Advil, then went into the den, curling up on the sofa after turning on the television. The images from the early morning were being re-played, and the talking points repeated over and over and over again. It was almost as bad as watching it happen the first time. I called my mother and told her I was home. We spoke briefly about how horrible it all was. Then, I told her I had some friends I needed to touch base with. My friend at the Pentagon had gotten my message and left me one in return, on my answering machine. I thanked God as I called her back and thanked him again when she answered. She said that it was as unbelievably harrowing an experience as it looked on television. She said it was massive chaos there. She sounded drained; I felt drained. We agreed to touch base later that night. I told her I loved her. She said the same. That’s the one thing that was driven home on this morning: when you’ve got the chance to say it, by gosh, say it! I wasted no opportunities in telling family and friends how much I loved them all.
The rest of the time, before Tom got home was spent contacting friends, - my brother and sister - letting them know that we were alright. We shared our common horror over what had occurred earlier in the day and prayed that it was over. It didn’t feel over, and it felt strange to feel so vulnerable. From watching the news reporters and government officials who spoke to our country that day, you could tell that they were as shaken to the core as the rest of us.
Four planes downed, and we knew what had happened to all of them. Everything else, meaning all other aircraft, it was reported, was accounted for. I paused and prayed that it was true. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t get the images out of my mind. I remember feeling Rhiannon next to me. I could hear her purring. My hand reached to stroke her soft fur. I opened my eyes, and she meowed. She was glad I was home. I was glad I was home. Boo, our parrot, had turned his head and buried it beneath his feathers. His wing covered his face. I remember thinking his idea wasn’t a bad one.
When Tom got home, he and I hugged for a long time. We didn’t say much. We didn’t need to. The hug and its strength said all that needed to be said.
"I got stuff to make breakfast," he said. "Are you hungry?"
"Not really," I told him. "But, that sounds good for later."
He went to make himself a cup of coffee. "Has anything else happened?"
"No, thank God!" I sighed.
"Crazy, huh?"
"It’s crazy alright!" I agreed. "It’s insane!"
We curled up on the sofa for a while and continued to listen to the news. We dozed for a bit, holding onto each other. The exhaustion of the day and mental fatigue had caught up with us, and we didn’t want to see or hear anymore at the moment. It was all so overwhelming. Not long after we woke, about 5 pm, reports confirmed that The Solomon Bros. Building, 7 World Trade Center, had also toppled.
"How many more?" I whispered as I watched. The horror just kept continuing.
Tom got up to make us breakfast for supper. I don’t know why, but breakfast tastes better for supper.  Usually. I remember not being certain that anything would taste good that night. Everything just seemed dismal. My appetite was gone.
The television showed police and firefighters working amidst the rubble of what was once The World Trade Center as well as The Pentagon, looking for any signs of life. If anyone had survived beneath all the debris, it would have been a miracle. I remember thinking how much our country could use a miracle at that moment.
As we ate, we watched as members of Congress took to the steps of the U. S. Capitol and sang God Bless America. Again, I cried. Our spirit was strong. We were down, but we were not out. It was evident. It was comforting. Through the sorrow of the day, came the pride of our resilience. People on opposite sides of the aisle joined hands in a sign of unity. We are Americans first and foremost. We band together in tough times, and the times, at that moment, were among the toughest!
The night was as long as the day had been. We decided to go to bed early that night. We’d seen enough and heard, at that point, all that we needed to hear. There would be nothing new to report until the morning, when daylight returned. It would be the first day of a new day for all of us in America. I prayed that the new day did not bring with it any more tragedy relating to the current day that we were bidding good night to. I called my father and my mother both that night just to say goodnight and tell them once again that I loved them.
With that, what started out as a beautiful September day, ended as a tragic one in regard to the history of our country. Two thousand, nine hundred and seventy seven people died in The 9-11 Attacks as it would come to be known, in addition to the 19 hijackers. I prayed for them all. It wasn’t easy praying for the hijackers, but as a Christian it was what I was raised to do: pray for my enemies as well as for my friends. I told God I wanted a gold star that night for praying for evil men. I thought it was only fair. I don’t know if you’ve ever done it, but it’s a HARD thing to do, trust me on that!
My thoughts focused on two thoughts that had been reinforced over and over that day. I recalled them as I tried to go to sleep:
"No greater love..." as was evidenced by Todd Beamer and the others aboard Flight 93. And, "We will never forget all those who died that day aboard Flights 11, 77, 93 and 175, as well as those who went to work that day at The Pentagon and The World Trade Center, thinking that it was just going to be another ordinary day."
As history now shows, and those of us who lived it can tell, there was nothing ordinary about it! It became the second date for America that will forever live in infamy.
Much has happened in the 10 years since that fateful day in September of 2001. But, one thing that has not changed, that has remained constant, can best be summed up in a passage from Laurence Binyon’s poem, "Ode of Remembrance~For the Fallen" written during another September in the year 1914. There are no words which need to be expressed after this thought. It states it all perfectly:
　



They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them...