September 5, 2007, Acworth, GA. Today I awoke to
fresh morning air as a welcome breeze drifted
through
my open window. Particles danced amongst the rays of
sunlight peaking through the crack in the bedroom
drapes. I’ve always enjoyed the serenity of
morning, and I felt safe and secure in our quiet
suburban neighborhood northwest of Atlanta. I
opened the drapes to have a wide-open view from the
second story. The morning’s vivid blue skies were
so clear and bright I was forced to divert my eyes.
Feeling of tranquility suddenly transformed to a
disturbing sense of angst. That same heavenly view
was reminiscent of the morning almost six years
earlier. September 11, 2001, the day Evil reared
its ugly head and the horror of all Hell befell our
country—the infamous 9/11.
I
turned away from the view and tried to shake the
unsettling thoughts, but when I took the remote in
hand and clicked on Fox’s Good Day Atlanta, there
was a sense of de ja vu. The phone rang just as it
did that fateful morning only today it was my
husband, Carl, calling to say he loves me. Hearing
his voice and those words reinforced the fact that I
am a truly blessed woman.
I
recalled that unforgettable morning the distressed
voice on the phone was that of my friend, Carol,
urging me to turn it over to Fox news!” The sight
on the screen left me speechless as I turned up the
volume to better hear the commentator. Carol’s
excitement was understandable now, as I watched and
listened in shock, “At 8:46 a.m. eastern standard
time a plane crashed into the North Tower of New
York’s World Trade Center. We’re awaiting further
details...” Carol and I, along with the rest of the
country surmised it was an accident, and we could
only imagine how frightening it was for the
passengers and the employees in the building. We
wondered how they would ever get that plane out of
the building without causing further damage to the
Tower. We never ONCE doubted the integrity of the
structure itself. We had seen documentaries about
how its construction was built to withstand
something like this. The World Trade Center didn’t
just belong to New York City or America. It was the
international financial hub, so it was designed by
the best for invincibility. Carl called on the
other line to make sure I knew what was going on and
reaffirmed everything Carol and I had been
discussing about the building’s structural
integrity.
By
9:00 every person in America was glued to a
television or radio, and while the cameras were
focused on the North Tower, at 9:03 another plane
crashed into the South Tower. It was evident—this
was no accident.
The
next fear was that aboard those planes there were
bombs, canisters of deadly gas or viral diseases or
even Weapons of Mass Destruction. Within minutes
the Federal Aviation Administration shut down all
New York airports, and by 9:25 FAA had grounded all
domestic flights nationwide. My phones were
ringing off the hook—both land lines and both cell
phone lines—Carl, our sons, Kenneth and Cory, my
sister, Pat, each of my brothers, friends, and Carol
again. Somehow we all felt safe and connected as
long as we could hear one another’s voices. Then
the cell phone developed that irritating fast busy
signal and the land lines soon followed. The
circuits were jammed not only here but across the
nation. Americans and those around the world feared
the worst for New York City residents and those at
the scene of the crashes. We just prayed the
firefighters could rescue as many as possible, and
that they could evacuate the maddening crowds of
people from the area before explosions from any
potential deadly weapons onboard could further
devastate the city. Television reporters informed
us the first plane that crashed into the North Tower
was American Airlines Flight #11 a 747, the other
was United Airlines Flight #175. Every person knew
this was no accident and all eyes were on New York
City, our prayers with its people.
Twenty minutes later came the report that American
flight #77 crashed into the Pentagon, and twenty
minutes after that we all watched in horror as the
South Tower collapsed in front of our eyes. The
White House was evacuated within minutes and the
citizens of this country knew right then, without
doubt—our great nation was under attack. When the
section of the Pentagon collapsed, followed by the
report of United Flight #93 crashing into a
Pennsylvania field after passengers confronted
hijackers, I was convinced the world had gone
completely mad. By 10:28 the collapse of the Trade
Center’s North Tower evidenced our world would never
be the same, if indeed our world survived at all.
The United States of America was under attack and
the questions everyone asked were, “How did this
happen?” “What’s next?” “Who’s behind these
travesties?” “Are we safe anywhere?”
The
phone lines remained jammed for a time that seemed
forever, and as a woman at home alone, I didn’t know
where to turn. Should I get in my car and drive to
Atlanta to be with Carl? Or did he have the idea to
come home, and we would just wind up missing one
another, altogether. What about our sons? I didn’t
budge from the television in hopes of hearing some
sort of instruction about what to do. Local news
urged residents to stay off the roads but traffic
jams still sprung up everywhere in Atlanta.
Everyone wanted to be with their loved ones if this
were, indeed, the end of our time.
The
sound of the phone ringing was music to my ears, and
I was relieved to hear Carl’s voice on the other
end. He reassured me that everything was under
control and not to worry. The CDC (Center for
Disease Control) is in Atlanta within only a few
miles of Carl’s office. The idea that these
terrorists, could crash a plane into the CDC, thus
scattering deadly viruses and micro-organisms
contained there sent me into a deeper state of
frantic. I begged Carl to come home and be with me,
and that I would call our sons to join us. He
reminded me that Dobbins Air Force Base in Marietta
was a short distance from our home, and urged me to
calm down while assuring me they were on top of
everything.
Nonetheless, frightening thoughts and fears of the
worst magnitude continued to run rampant through my
mind, and then I heard the roar of fighter jets
overhead. I stepped outside to the deck, and the
quiet serenity of the September blue sky was
shattered by the deafening of the roaring jets—and
yet a beautiful sight. It was unnerving while at
the same time it was comforting to know they were
there, as I said aloud, “Thank you, God!”
When
the camera panned the New York City’s famous
skyline, they shared the same clear blue sky as
Georgia. The difference was their’s was engulfed
with black and grey-white smoke, surreal in contrast
against their vivid blue sky.
In
retrospect, the attacks on our country that horrific
morning jolted our sense of security as a nation.
The much-needed Homeland Security was formed and our
security has tightened across the board at airports,
large and small, bus and train stations, our
seaports and at events where large groups gather.
We have experienced other terrorist attempts on our
country, as well as other countries such as England
and Germany. We are at war with the terrorists,
make no mistake about it. The problem is in not
knowing who and where they are. On September 11,
2001 we Americans in this great nation of ours—The
United States of America—were attacked by our
enemies. It was no coincidence they hijacked planes
from the two airlines that bear our country’s
name—United and American. They planned this on a
date we would all remember and bring an entirely new
meaning to Emergency 911. We have been fighting
this ugly battle against terror for almost six years
and many ask it it’s worth it. When will the
fighting end? The fighting will end when we can
rest safely at nights in our comfortable beds
confident and without doubt that we’re safe and
secure in America.
Whenever I see those magnificent jets and various
other U.S. Air Force planes against the sky during
their periodic maneuvers, I thank God we don’t have
attacks on our home soil. I’m thankful I can get in
my car and drive from coast to coast without
providing documents as proof of citizenship. I’m
thankful I can turn on my color television,
work/play on the computer, enjoy a warm home in the
winter and air conditioning in the summer. To enjoy
all the modern conveniences of electricity, gas,
running water for bathing, cooking, swimming, enjoy
instant communication via phones, cell phones, iPods—the
list is endless—makes me proud to be an American and
know that I am free to be who, what and where I want
to be.
The
question arises quite frequently whether this war
and our presence in the Middle East is necessary, or
if we can afford to keep fighting with no apparent
end in sight. Is our freedom worth fighting for?
Before answering that question one should remember
where he/she was on September 11, 2001. Relive
that day in his/her mind when we had no warning or
pre-determination where the next strike might be.
Experience the fear all over again—the same fear
shared by every living soul in America that day—when
the serenity of our September morning’s blue sky was
shattered, along with our sense of safety and
security as a nation.
