Saturday, September 10, 2011

Before Everything Changed

Recently one of my poems was published by an online magazine, Epiphany. It's called "Before Everything Changed" and it deals with adjustments we all had to make once our nation was shattered on 9/11. With the tenth anniversary of the attacks just a day away, I'm weighing in with my own recollections of that horrific event, although the poem probably does a better job of capturing my thoughts. You can see it at www.epiphmag.com.

Tuesday, September 11, 2001 began early for me. I had to get my middle-school age son to jazz band at 8 o'clock and drop my youngest at elementary school. On the way we listened to Breakfast With The Beatles on a local radio station in the car. I held forth with memories of growing up in the Sixties, when life for a pre-teen seemed limitless and carefree. The boys and I sang along. When I got home I saw my oldest boy off at the bus stop while taking my morning power walk with the family dog. Back at the house I gathered several notebooks full of writing projects, determined to spend the day working on my novel. I'd had a birthday the week before and vowed, as I do every year, to tackle the pages with gusto.

Shortly before 9 o'clock the phone rang. "A plane collided with the World Trade Center," my husband Paul told me. I went straight to the TV and, like millions of viewers across America and beyond, began watching the shocking spectacle unfold in real time. I called my loved ones. First my parents and then my sister and brother in-law. The five of us exchanged terrified words as the the second plane hit the South Tower. Then the third jet crashing into the Pentagon and finally, Flight 93 going down in Shanksville, PA. The media feverishly covered emerging details. I begged Paul to come home from work. David Bloom of NBC said one of the intended targets was believed to be Atlanta. Such false or speculative reports unraveled fast and furious, as I thought about going to pick up my kids at their schools. I decided against it, recalling the day in 1963 when teachers informed students of Kennedy's assassination. I reasoned that it was crazy to think my children were in danger. But it nagged at me all afternoon as I awaited their safe return on the school bus. I continued calling Paul, bewildered that his bosses and co-workers were going on with business as usual while the homeland was under siege.

That night my oldest son's basketball practice was still held and that weekend, during the game, I noticed how subdued and quiet the people in the bleachers were. Everyone was in a state of shock, stupefied that such an all-out assault on this country could have been carried out with relative ease. That week I insisted my children watch the celebrity telethon with me. Famous actors and musicians blanketed the airwaves, singing and speaking about the sacrifices and courage of the 9/11 heroes. America: A Tribute to Heroes raised money for the victims' families, opening with Bruce Springsteen's harmonica, as he began performing a song that ended up on his next album, The Rising. That album is one of the many amazing artistic reactions to 9/11, as rock gods like Bruce and movie stars like Tom Hanks suddenly seemed like neighbors: ordinary Americans reckoning with an unbelievable tragedy.

Ten years later it still seems surreal. Last night's NBC News showed a teenager who was only six at the time commenting "It was like a video game." It was astonishing and revelatory. Heinous and unspeakable. All dramatic adjectives apply. That week I took my grandfather's American flag out of the cobwebs in my basement and flew it proudly on my front porch. Flags popped up everywhere. On an early October car ride out of town for a visit with my parents, I suggested my kids count the number of Old Glories they saw on the way. We all chimed in with approximate guesses as to what the final total would be. In the end it eclipsed the highest estimate--over four-hundred. Songs and books have been written, memorials have been erected, commissions have examined, politicians have speechified, wars have been waged. One of our darkest hours became our most united front. It's worth revisiting those September days a decade ago, to try to rise above partisan bickering in Washington, the narcissistic nature of our culture and the economic gloom that pervades every choice in the marketplace. 9/11 is of such seismic proportion it seems futile and hopelessly redundant to add another commemorative voice to the national conversation. But ignoring it isn't an option. Cue Kate Smith and say your prayers.