The Day the World Changed

Nine years ago today I was in my classroom when I heard plane engines. Our school is near an airport and this is not an uncommon occurrence by any means. That day however; it was different. Louder. So loud that the windows started shaking in their frames. I stopped teaching for a moment - I couldn't talk over it. Then it was over.

Someone said "That plane was really low. Something must be wrong."

And it was.

Everyone who remembers knows where they were at the moment when they found out that the first tower was hit. My colleague came into my classroom and told me that terrorists had hijacked a plane and flew it into the World Trade Center. So close, she said. Only about 40 miles away. I remember what I said next.

"My husband works across the street from the World Trade Center."

She looked at me carefully and said quietly. "You might want to call him."

The next few hours were a blur. The phone lines weren't working. Cell phone service was down. All circuits were busy. I tried every phone I could; but to no avail. Parents started streaming into the school to pick up their children. I could understand that. There's something about holding your child close to you that makes you feel like you are in control - that in a small way you can keep your feet on solid ground when it's shifting beneath you. I remember trying to find a way for someone to go get my own children for me until I could figure out what to do. What to tell them? I wasn't sure how much they would be told, or if they would understand. I didn't want anyone else to tell them about this until I knew where he was. All the bridges were shut down and I was across the river from them. My mind was working on a different level as I helped console students and figure out what my next step was going to be. I went about each task with a sense of unreality. I remember wondering if this was going to be the day when my life changes forever.

Everyone's life changed that day. Some in a tragic, unimaginable way. The American Psyche shifted from a place where we thought we were safe - to the realization that what happens in other parts of the world was just as much a reality for us. No one is exempt from terrorism.

I recall how I felt when they paged me over the P.A. in school. I started walking from one end of the building towards the office, people looking at me without saying a word, some averting their eyes. I represented their fears. I could feel their empathy, their hope and even their relief that this wasn't happening to them. It's a natural emotion. It's why we go and look at our sleeping children when we hear on the news of the fire that killed a family in their sleep. We can cry for them, but need to make sure that tragedy hasn't somehow reached out to touch one of our own.

My heart was pounding in my throat. The last few yards I couldn't stand it anymore and started to run. "He called!" the secretaries told me. One was crying. "We hung up on him by accident, but he's fine. He's home!" They were so excited that they disconnected him. He called back. I heard his voice and he tried to tell me what he saw but he couldn't talk. There was too much to say. He'd already picked up the kids. They were all home waiting for me. My principal told me. "Go now, they opened the bridge." I left.

That night I saw his name on a missing person's list online. As I responded to tell them he was okay - I knew that we were lucky. Luck, that's all it was. He'd had to choose between two jobs when he interviewed in lower Manhattan months before. One was in the towers and the other nearby. We never know the repercussions of our choices until later.

On that Tuesday, a clear cloudless sky became blackened with fear. Lives changed, America changed. The world changed. Some of the choices people made that day were to sacrifice themselves to save others, knowing full well what they were walking into, but doing it all the same. Today I think of them and of those who simply got up and went to work like any other day, not realizing the repercussions of that simple choice. And I feel empathy, and relief, and guilt, and the collective grief of a nation that lost its innocence nine years ago today.