Every year the news media reminds us how long it has been. It’s been one year since…five-year anniversary…twenty years since…I KNOW I KNOW!!
September 11, 2001, was supposed to be a back-to-normal day, a time for a fresh start. My sons were headed back to school, and I was faced with the heavy decision of how to move forward. How do I take care of my family, feed them, and keep a roof over our heads? How normal can your days be when you lose the love of your life? How normal can life be for young boys who were grieving the loss of their father? How normal can life be when you were counting on happily ever after and ended up with until death do us part? I often wondered, “How will I manage all this alone?”
These were the thoughts racing through my mind while I was in the shower. My older son yelled up the steps, “Mom, we’re under attack!”
“What?” I stuttered, half-aloud, half-whispering, completely bewildered.
Jumping out of the shower, dressing while still wet, I ran down the stairs to watch the horrific scene unfolding. We watched the news reports in horror and the heartbreak that the entire country was witnessing. A new question came to mind. How do we move forward with our personal loss at such a tragic time for our country? Everyone I knew was heartsick, the pain that starts in your heart and travels through your body like a fuse along a cord slowly burning from your heart to your upset stomach, your parched throat, your pounding head. Tears stream down your face as the reality of what happened just explodes inside.
My husband Jerry passed away from cancer on September 2, 2001. Just nine days later, the events of September 11 shifted our focus from personal grief to a national tragedy. After fourteen years as a stay-at-home mom, I questioned my next steps. What will I do now? Our grieving process was delayed due to this larger event, and I am still unsure whether we achieved complete closure. Perhaps that’s why I’m revealing this 24 years later. While others suffered greatly, I still wondered: what about us?
In 2009, my friend, Susan and I were visiting Flight 93 memorial in Shanksville, PA. At that time, the original, organic memorial to those who died was still there. Since then, a permanent structure was erected, trees planted, and bridges built. I have visited since, but I’m not sure which memorial touched me more, although the new bell tower is a powerful monument to those who died that fateful day. Forty passengers and crew sacrificed their lives to save others. It was emotional, heart-wrenching, sad, and personal. This would be an experience that we could only feel—an encounter that could never quite be put into words. But I will try.
We found the road that led to “the field” and the Flight 93 memorial. For a cold and dreary Thursday afternoon, there seemed to be many cars coming and going. As we approached the memorial, I felt an overwhelming sadness. Tears welled up in my eyes as I pulled up to the steel barrier that separated the parking spaces from the field. We sat in the car for a while to take in the view. The hole in the field. We looked at each other, trying to decide if we should even get out of the car. We did. And walked slowly toward the memorial. We did not speak. We each went our own way.
It was a very windy day. All I could hear was the sound of the flags whipping around, so many flags—and that fast, flapping sound was so loud—and then, the clang of the flag chain beating against the metal pole with an evil sound that only got louder the longer we were there. Clang! Clang! Clang! It was as if the evils in the world were screaming to overpower the love and compassion, the pride, and the sorrow and grief that most of us would feel in this holy place. It was the ultimate blend of good and evil whipping through the entire field! An overwhelming cloud of sadness and anger hung close to the ground. There was an eerie feeling about this place, a heaviness in the air. I knew I was standing on sacred ground. Clang! Clang! Clang!
I was awe-stuck by the many symbols of prayer and remembrance left by compassionate visitors. Every inch of the large chain link memorial was covered with heartfelt gratitude and appreciation as well as sorrow and grief—firemen’s turnout gear, airline pilot’s caps, stuffed animals, license plates and ball caps from all over the country. There were toy superheroes, painted rocks, and Popsicle stick crosses—one for each of the victims. Handwritten notes of grief and compassion, patriotic magnets with messages of “God bless our troops,” “God bless America” and yellow ribbons supporting our troops. So many rosary beads, hanging everywhere, many around the neck of a St. Francis statue! It’s comforting to know that so many people turn to God in tragic situations, when in reality, there is nowhere else to turn. Clang! Clang! Clang!
There were benches facing the field with the names of the passengers engraved on the slats—Elizabeth Woods, Andrew “Sonny” Garcia, Christine Snyder, Todd Beamer. Susan told me later that she felt as though they were sitting there on the benches waiting to tell someone their story. WOW!
Visitors like me are broken hearted that innocent people must suffer and die because other people do evil things, especially in the name of God. How do we make them see we are all children of the same God?
In 2011, on the 10-year anniversary of Jerry’s death, I went to Erie by myself for Labor Day weekend. I found a hotel directly on the water, but it really wasn’t a beach. And you had to walk down about thirty wooden steps to get there and fight the overnight spider webs along the way! I collected sea glass, made friends with a duck, and spent peaceful time alone. I was inspired to rid myself of the burdens of past guilt, sorrow, sadness, and heaviness that I had been carrying. I found a pile of large rocks close by. I picked up a rock, gave it a name, (guilt), said a prayer and flung my guilt into the lake. I did this with every burden I was carrying. When I finished, my shoulders felt lighter and so did my heart.
I’m sure there are many families who had personal losses who couldn’t fully grieve at that time. When you remember the victims of the 9/11 terror attacks in prayer, please remember to add a prayer for those whose personal losses were overshadowed by this national tragedy.
It’s the twenty-fourth anniversary…. I KNOW!
