Reflections on September 11, and on today...

I have started this blog post many times over the last 15 hours without being able to settle into something that strikes the appropriate tone.  Osama Bin Laden is dead – killed in a boots on the ground military operation in the previously unheard of city of Abbottabad, Pakistan.  The last thing in this world he saw before he met his end was the grim face of a US warrior. The face of conviction and resolve; the face of justice delivered courtesy of the Navy SEALs.  And while I do not cherish the idea of celebrating any person’s death; it seems just so unseemly, I can say that the events are remarkable. Like the slamming of great and terrible door while simultaneously opening a beautiful window.

The news of Bin Laden’s death brings to the mind many memories from September of 2001.  Ten years in my rearview mirror - I remember September 11, 2001 distinctly. It was a Tuesday morning – perhaps the most stunningly beautiful morning I had seen in a long time.  I recall the sky was gorgeous and there was a slight late summer breeze blowing through trees still full with leaves.

I was at work when news reports of the first plane hitting the towers came in.  We all thought it was an accident – I remembered reading a story in fourth grade about how a bomber lost in fog had crashed into the Empire State Building and the sheared off propeller killed a woman.  I remember thinking that the weather must be a lot worse in New York City than it was here if that happened.

Then came news of a second plane, and immediately we all knew it was an act of terror.  Around the same time my mother-in-law called me at work, her voice anguished and very emotional.  “We’re under attack” she screamed and then reminded me that I had left the house that morning with the computer still on so she couldn’t reach my wife and our then 1 year old son to check on them.

I left work, without permission of my supervisor, and went to the bank where I drew out 500.00.  I filled the car with as much gasoline as it would hold and then went to our local discount retailer where I bought diapers, baby food, bottled water and bread.  Having not lived through this before – I had no idea what to expect but those seemed like wise choices.

On my way back from the store to our modest home in Lansing, I noticed the gas stations wildly raising their prices – prices ranged from 3.00 per gallon to upwards of 5.00 a gallon.  I felt a small tinge of relief at having gotten gas for right around a buck fifty per gallon.  I can also vividly recall stepping out of the car and, for the first time in my entire life, realizing that there was virtually no air traffic flying.  That morning was so beautiful and turned so dreadfully quiet. I remember every car at every stop light had an American; tears flowing, making regular eye contact with his or her neighbors at the light.  I remember feeling that day like I was part of a nation; moreso than ever before in my life.

Once home, as I reached for the front door, I remember thinking that nothing would ever be the same in our lives again.  I remember thinking that my new son would grow up in a world stained by war and terror – that his parents would be forever changed in the way that my parents and theirs were forever changed by Pearl Harbor.  I turned the knob and there were my wife and son, playing in the front room – TV off.  My wife asked me what I was doing home from work, and what was wrong – had I gotten fired?  “Turn on the TV,” I told her.

The rest is just such a blur – the whirlwind moments in the days and weeks and months that followed.  The eerie, haunting sounds of the firefighters’ distress beacons - "beep beep beep" that carried over to the news accounts from Ground Zero. The catheter of fear that is “news ticker” and its never ending torrent of information – mostly wrong. I remember crying, a lot.  And I remember the rage, and patriotism, followed much later by a deep and sinister cynicism that we had been allowed down a path of war by those among us who wanted war.

On vacation in 2002, I asked a man from Pennsylvania if the effects of 2001 were more local, more potent to him living closer to New York City than to those of us in the Midwest.  I remember he started to cry, and told me a story about having dinner at Windows on the World, and then being left wondering the next week if “that kid who brought me a pizza and a beer” was still alive.

I remember my visit to Shanksville, Pennsylvania in September of 2002 – and what a powerful and moving experience it was to be there with my family.  The passengers and crew of flight 93 voted before they took action – how uniquely American.  They voted.  I remember walking away from that field in Shanksville thinking I would never again forgo my ability to vote in any election.  

I also remember wondering what it would feel like when we finally caught up with Osama Bin Laden.  That was a decade ago.  So much of my life; all of our lives really, now gone - spent.  And while I have never forgotten our troops in the field; never spent one moment taking their sacrifice for granted – I have to admit that over much of the last several years I have given as much thought to Osama Bin Laden as I have what I might cook for dinner.

So today, he is gone and we are here.  I don’t know really how to feel about it.  I don’t want to cheer the death of another.  It’s just not my values.  But I think it is good that he has had justice brought to him.  It is good to show that whatever the costs there will be an accounting for terror; and I think it is good that it was Americans who did it.

I’ll go to bed tonight so very proud of our servicemen and women, our President, and our country.  I do not know what will come of this – if there will be more peace or less in the weeks and months to come.  But for today, we can rejoice in the notion of justice and a difficult job well done by those whose pledge is to keep America safe.

Two final remembrances of 9/11/2001 – before the advent of blogging, my writing indulgence was exercised only by writing an annual Christmas newsletter.  Once per year I would sit down and punch out a couple of pages on whatever.  A lasting change, after 9/11/01, was that I would sign each newsletter with the words “Peace in our time.”

The second is more a tradition than a remembrance. Each September 11, I stop by my son's school and ask the secretary to call him to the office.  I tell her "I have to give him something he might have forgotten at home this morning."  I then wait in the hallway for him and, when he appears, I give him a hug, a kiss and I tell him I love him and how proud his mom and I are of him.  It is never lost on me that all who were lost on 9/11/01 were just ordinary people just leading their ordinary lives.

Thanks for stopping by my blog today.  I hope that wherever you are, whoever you are with tonight – you find yourself in the company of those you love; those whose lives are precious to you and you are warmed by them. I hope you reflect on your mythology lessons and remember that, after Pandora opened the legendary vessel loosing all of the evils unto the world, therein remained just a solitary occupant of the box – hope.  Tonight, hold those that are closest to you and hope and pray for a lasting peace in our time.

Dennis

Smalltowndad@hotmail.com