Reposted from my old blog...
I was at home with the kids. The ex had moved out only a few weeks before so I was dealing with that, with finding out that I was married to someone who lied and cheated and treated me like crap but still hoping to make it work. Don't ask me why. It's not what this post is about.
He was coming over that morning to take his computer that I'd been using so I was waiting for him to show up.
Sometime after 9 am my Mom called me and told me to turn on the TV. She said a plane had hit one of the towers.
As I turned on the TV I was thinking it was a little plane, maybe a 2-seater. Someone had made a flying mistake and I hoped there wouldn't be too many causalities.
Even as I first saw the news I was thinking it was an accident. I think a lot of people thought that. Probably hoped for that.
And then everything changed as I watched the world we knew disintegrate before my eyes.
I watched the second plane hit. I watched as people fell from the building, the screaming, crying, blood covered faces, then suddenly it switched from New York to D.C, and I watched the smoke and destruction at the Pentagon and then it went back and I watched the towers collapse...and somewhere in there flight 93 hit the ground.
It was like watching a movie.
Like being in a dream.
It couldn't be real.
It could. not. be real.
But it was.
At some point in time the ex showed up and all I could think was, we're at war. We're under attack. How insignificant are our marriage issues when the world is coming to an end. Of course, they were significant enough to end the marriage but, once again, this is not about that.
I remember him unhooking his computer and refusing to hook my old one back up because he was busy. I even asked him because I had all of my online friends to help me get through this marriage thing...Cis, Tree, Patty...you guys know who you are and I needed you.
But he refused.
And somehow I got it back together, the TV still blaring scenes of death and destruction. Again and again and again.
It was unbelievable. I still remember the fear, the sadness...everything mixed up between the loss of my marriage and the loss of everything that was collapsing around us.
For months afterwards I read the stories and looked at the photos and videos that were repeated over and over again.
CNN had this thing where they posted a profile for every person lost. I read each one, refusing to miss any. I had to know more and more about the lost. Maybe because it was the only thing, the last thing, I could do for them.
I read about the married couple, 7 months pregnant who probably tried to get out together and never made it. Years later the husband was identified through DNA, I don't know if the wife ever was.
I read about the New York cities police officers and firefighters to rushed to their deaths believing that they could save someone and being lost in the process.
I read about those who were there on their first day of work, those who were there for their last, those who were late and missed the attack and those who were covering some one's shift and were killed. The final phone calls goodbye, the heroes of flight 93 and the heroes that have never been truly acknowledged.
The parking lots still filled with cars that will never be picked up by their owners again. The pregnant wives waiting at home for some shred of hope. The funerals, the pain, the young and the old and all those in between. They all, and so many, many more, were with me. And still remain with me.
Somewhere in a desk I have an issue of Newsweek with photos and articles that came out that week. I don't want to read it right now. I don't know when or if I will ever read it again but something compelled me to buy it. Maybe someday when the kids are older and have more questions I will pull it out and have them read it. I don't know. I guess we'll see.
I remember exactly what I was doing that day. I remember what I was feeling and what the world was watching along with me.
And I will never, never forget.