The Morning After

Like so many others, we woke to a clear, bright day that morning ten years ago.  We got ready quickly; the movers would arrive soon.  Looking around our small half of the duplex, on our Mister Roger’s Neighborhood street, I saw the boxes stacked everywhere.  On the table with our wallet and cell phone were the airplane tickets for this evening: Pittsburgh to Boston. 

The movers arrived, and quickly the house started to empty and the truck started to fill.  Tomorrow we would be in Boston to close on our new home, our first home.  It was almost nine o’clock when the phone rang.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Are you watching TV?”  I pulled the phone from my ear to look at it, shaking my head.

“No, Mom.  We are packing the truck.  The movers are already here.”

“You need to turn on the TV.”

Images of billowing smoke from a familiar building filled the screen.  Less than six months ago, I had stood on top of that building, talking to the same person on the same cell phone.  Everyone in the house stopped.  Movers stood and stared with us.  Not sure what to make of it.

“Where’s Dad?”  Dad travels a lot.  He had been in that building a few weeks ago.

“He is here in Pittsburgh.  He is in the office.”  Dad’s office is at the top of the US Steel Building – 57 stories above the city.  “They are asking them to leave the building.  I have to go, one of your brothers is calling.”

We go back to work.  We pack boxes, watching the images on the TV.  After each trip to the truck, the movers stop to watch again.  We see the second impact.  We hear the speculation.  The phone rings again; this time Sharyn’s mom. 

“They are saying the planes came from Boston.  They are talking about shutting down the airports.”

We are supposed to fly tonight.  The closing is tomorrow.  The movers are supposed to load our car on the truck.  We turn to the movers and tell them we may need the car after all. 

There is another airplane, talk of terrorists, talk of war.  Suddenly, one of the buildings is gone.  We all stop.  It is gone.  There might have been thousands of people in that building.  More slowly this time, we go back to work. 

Pittsburgh.  Did they really just say Pittsburgh?  We turn up the volume.  There is another plane.  The phone rings again.  This time a more panicked voice is on the other end.

“They said a plane crashed in Pittsburgh!”

“We haven’t seen or heard anything.  We are safe.”

We learn about a place called Shanksburg.  We see blank sky where two buildings stood.  We hear updates of where and who and what.  We listen as everyone asks, “Why.”  The house is empty now.  The TV is the last thing on the truck.  We finish cleaning, and drive to my parent’s home in the car that didn’t go on the truck.

Over a simple dinner, we all watch the President speak to us.  We are grateful he is in charge.  He doesn’t have answers, but he provides comfort and reassurance.  We talk together as we hold our nine-week-old baby girl and rock her to sleep.

We pray together, grateful that parents and siblings and extended family are safe.  Then we load the car, buckle in our baby girl, and begin the long drive.

The roads are eerily empty as we drive across Pennsylvania.  Throughout the night, we listen to the latest reports.  A picture of what happened is slowly emerging.  We turn north, skirting around the city everyone is discussing.  The voices on the radio tell us we wouldn’t be able to get much closer anyway.  We head north, now almost alone on the highway.  As the reporters recap the scene at Ground Zero, we reach Massachusetts and turn toward the East.

Just before 7 am, we stop to feed Katelyn.  She has slept almost ten hours straight, letting us make the drive.  We say another prayer, this time grateful for our safety, and for a baby that slept through the night, and for a night without incident.  Then we continue the last 100 miles.

It is another clear, sunny morning in Boston.

We find our hotel.  We close on the house.  We visit our new home; it is the first time Sharyn sees it in person.  We nap as we watch the ongoing reports. 

Life continues that week.  Two days later, the movers arrive, and we unload everything.  This time there is no TV broadcast while the movers are there.  In two more days, we drive to Logan airport to pick up my mom who has come to help.  She is easy to find; there aren’t any other travelers there that morning.

We move in and begin our new life.  Katelyn doesn’t sleep ten hours straight for another month.  I start life as a consultant, boarding airplanes at least twice a week.  In less than two months, all three of us are taking a cross-country flight out of Logan airport to visit family.

Most of us can never truly understand the suffering of those that lost friends and family that day.  But all of us were impacted in some way.  We remember where we were.  We remember how life changed.  We remember what we felt, and what we thought, and what we did.

Ten years later, there is a memorial to the fallen.  Bronze and stone and water stand in place of those twin towers.  These markers remind us of the lives lost to tragedy, and the lives given in service.  We can visit the site, and stand in silence, and remember the sacrifices.

There is another reminder of the courage of this country, another symbol of the strength of the human spirit.  It is in the lives of the everyday heroes among us. 

We see it in the patient voice of a mother as she teaches her special needs child.

We see it in the determination of the cancer patient who finishes another round of chemotherapy.

We see it in the simple act of starting a new day for the person facing depression.

We see it in the unwavering courage of the soldiers and policemen and firefighters who go into work every morning.

We see it in the support of the spouses and children who pray for those service men and women while they are away.

We see it in the tearful eyes of parents who are learning to care for their diabetic child.

We see it in the hopeful faces of our children as they approach the new day with wonder, and optimism, and joy.

As we mark the ten-year anniversary of 9-11, we take a moment to remember those that lost their lives, and to give thanks to those who served and protected us then and now.  We also celebrate the courage of our friends and families and neighbors who each day face their own struggles. 

Our thoughts and prayers go out to those died that day, to those who lost loved ones that day, and to those that face the morning after, then and now.