remembering

Sometime in the late summer of 2001, a friend from high school and I decided to take an extended weekend get away to New York City.  Neither of us had been, and we thought this was a perfect time.  Susie had not started back to school yet at Ohio State, and my classes had already begun at Cleveland State University.  My schedule was such that I only had classes on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.

We were eager suburban girls ready to see the big city.  We saw John Melloncamp live on the Today Show, we toured 30 Rock, we saw Broadway shows, strolled around Central Park, and took a ride out to Ellis Island.

We boarded the ship on an overcast Sunday.  September 9th to be exact.  The fog and haze was so thick as we cruised from Battery Park to Ellis Island, that much of the iconic Lower Manhattan skyline wasn't visible.  The tops of many of the buildings were not visible that morning.

Because I needed to be back for class on Tuesday, Susie and I flew home on Monday, September 10, 2001.

The morning of September 11, 2001 I boarded the RTA 55 bus from Bay Village to Cleveland State.  I didn't have a car at the time, although I was one of the early adopters of a cell phone.  My first class of the day was an Organic Chemistry lecture, followed by an Anatomy lab.  It seemed just like any other day, taking notes on carbon atoms, dozing, and thinking about my recent trip.  I was even sporting a new purchase, an iconic I Heart NY t-shirt.

Shortly before my O-Chem lecture was to end, a student rushed into the lecture hall to tell us that a plane hit one of the World Trade Center towers.  No one fully comprehended what was happening.  Nothing like this had happened to the collective memory of the class.

I walked up the stairs to the Anatomy lab to find a television tuned to the news.  One of the buildings was on fire, and the second building was hit shortly after.  The first plane to crash into the building could have been explained off as being a flight-path error.  But once the second building was hit, there was no mistaking that something was seriously wrong.  Names like bin Laden and Al Qaeda meant nothing to any of us.

Classes were cancelled for the remainder of the day.  Because of its proximity to a body of water, Cleveland was thought to be another potential target.  The city was shut down.  Everyone was encouraged to evacuate, and in their haste, the city stopped running its bus system.  I was seemingly stranded.  I called my dad on my cell phone to see if he could pick me up from downtown, since he worked only 10 minutes from where I was.  All of the phone lines were jammed, and I couldn't get through.

Finally the city started running buses again, and I climbed aboard the first bus I saw headed toward the west side of Cleveland.  I didn't care where it was going, I just needed to get out.  Thankfully, I recognized a girl from one of my classes.  She lived near my side of town, and knew another boy who was riding the bus.  This boy, who I did not know, had parents who owned a laundromat in Lakewood, and the bus would be going by the store.  He had a car there, and was planning to take this girl to a spot closer toward my house so she could be picked up; he offered me a ride, which is was very grateful.  I was able to reach my dad, who then came to pick me up.

In that time, the Pentagon had been hit, and the fourth plane had crashed in Pennsylvania.  I watched the tv for the rest of the day in total disbelief that this sky line I saw days before was forever changed.  Its as if the overcast, low clouds were predicting what was to happen.

Following the attacks, it felt like the country was so united.  Now, not so much.

People died that day.  Some just because they went to work.  Some because they were responding to the disaster.  Some because they were heroes.

My brother in law has a friend from college who died in the Trade Center.  He was there on business.  He was recently married -- for as little as weeks or months.  He called his new bride shortly after the tower had been hit.  He told her that he loved her, and that he couldn't breathe.  That was the last she heard from him.

I am sad that thousands of stories like this exist.

I am sad that tomorrow I will walk into class, to have students who don't remember this day.  My sophomores were 5 and 6 years old.  Just as generations before us remember wars, Pearl Harbor, the Holocaust, and other events, there will be a time when no one will remember this day.  And so as Elie Wiesel proclaims that we must "bear witness for the living and for the dead," we need to remember this day.

I am so grateful that I was able to see the city before the events of September 11th.  I am also grateful that I had class on Tuesday that required me to be home.  I am grateful for those who put themselves in harms way to try to help those in need.  I am grateful to live in this country.  I am grateful for those who are fighting abroad.  I am grateful.