My mother always told me that she'd never forget where she was on the morning that JFK was shot. It was somethingย that was burnt into her brain. She remembered the announcement. She remembered the way she felt. She remembered how everyone close to her reacted, and I feel the same way about September 11th.
I was off of work that day. I was a retail worker and an early shifter, so when I could sleep in a bit, I did. It seemed to be happening right as I turned on the television. Living in New Jersey, New York news stations were our local feeds, and my parents set the televisionย to ABC 7. Both of my parents were working that morning, so I was home alone. I turned on the television mindlessly, wandering into the kitchen and not paying the content much mind. After all, I needed coffee to function.
And then I heard the shock present in the newscaster's voice.ย
From that point onward, I was trying to call my father. He worked in Teaneck, about ten miles outside of the city. There was no getting through. Lines were jammed. My mother worked five minutes from home, and she was too busy to talk. My next call was to one of my best girlfriends. She was still in high school at the time, and I couldn't get through to her for a while. Eventually, she showed up at my door. A lot of her family, too, lived just outside of the city, and we tried to make phone calls that couldn't connect. We were heavy hearted, and we didn't know what to do.
For days, we were all glued to the news, to seeing tear stained faces mixed with ash, to seeing footage that we honestly shouldn't have seen in some part. We prayed for people to be saved, for lives to be spared. We held our breath and hoped that there would be no more terror, at least, for the time being. We felt helpless. We made signs of hope and perched ourselves on the lawn of a Dunkin Donuts. At night, we lit candles and held up our signs, passersby honking their horns. A few strangers joined us. We said we'd never forget. We said that we were united, and though the gesture was small, we had only prayed it was some sort of contribution. We felt that if we could spark hope in a broken heart, if that was all we could do -- that was something. After all, every person matters. Every life matters.
To this day, I still can't watch footage from 9/11. It hurts my heart. It weighs heavy on my soul. My father, who was en route to work, saw so much of it unfold before his eyes. He, who used to work in the city, can't watch the footage either. We're not alone. There are countless numbers of people that feel the same, but we'll never forget. The images are with us forever. We feel for the families that lost their loved ones. We feel for the first responders that are fighting for their lives now with various illnesses brought on by what they experienced.
We, as a country, did rise up. We did make it through, and I hold onto that as we go through a different kind of heartache now. We'll never forget. I'll never forget.
