Let me just preface this post with I do not expect you to read this. It's more for me to look back and reflect on what I remember from that day 10 years ago.
I was in 7th grade, in Mrs. Jackson's english class. It was just a regular beautiful September day, up to 8:46 am. My mom (who taught at my middle school) was on hall duty outside and was on the phone with a parent. They were talking about how her son needed to move classes when the mother started screaming. My mom didn't know what was going on and thought she was freaking out about moving classes when in actuality she was watching the news and saw that the first plane had hit the world trade center. My mom pulled me out of class and told me that someone blown up the world trade center. My dad was supposed to be flying home from Kentucky that day but she couldn't get in touch with him at the moment. We later found that they had either missed their flight or couldn't get on once every flight was grounded, and were driving back. I didn't understand what was going on because I had honestly never heard the buildings called the "world trade center", we had been to them many times and I have plenty of pictures in front of them but I always knew them as the "twin towers". I didn't understand what was going on or honestly why it was a big deal.
All day we were getting updates over the intercom. The second plane hit in science class and i really started to understand what the big deal was in history class. Because we lived so close to NYC and so many people's parents worked there, kids were getting called out of class all day. Parents couldn't get in touch with each other and they wanted their family all together. After school, teachers rode the buses home with students and knocked on the door to make sure they weren't going home to an empty house. Coverage was basically on every channel so they didn't want us watching it without someone around to explain it.
We stayed at school until 5pm until every student was at home or with a friend. I think one of my most vivid moments of that entire day happened at dinner that night. My mom had the news on in the other room and I remember looking over and they were showing footage of people jumped out of the towers. It scared me so much I left the table in tears. It was the first time I really understood HOW crazy this event was. How desperate these people were and how chaotic their last moments were.
We later found out that we lost a few people from my little town. We lost a father, a firefighter, and a young man who was 23. He was where I am right now, just a few months into his first 'real' job. He was at a great point in his life when it was all taken away. The father had 4 children. The firefighter just wanted to make a bit of difference in this world. I think the thing I struggled with, as do many people in situations like this is WHY. WHY did some people survive and others didn't. It is something that pulls at my heart and makes me question a lot of things. I have faith, but this shakes in a way and makes in stronger in another.
I worry about what my plan is, where I am going to be in 5, 10, 15 years. But it also makes me believe that there is a plan. I don't know what it is, but I know that when it's my time it's my time. That things will work out how they are supposed to. I know that when it's time for me to get married, have babies, break a leg, or be lonely that it is part of the plan. I'm getting off topic here and I'm going to end this post , but I think every year we need to remember this day and be proud of our country and trust in our faith that it will all be ok.
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