| Sunday, September 14, 2003 |
Second Anniversary of the September 11th Attacks
Two years after the two towers fell and our Pentagon proved penetrable On September 11, 2001, I knew the instant the second plane hit the tower that this moment in history would change our world. Despite the atmosphere and concern that reverberated in the office (located about 15 miles from the Pentagon), a vice president was eerily indifferent. I had a meeting with him at 10 AM, and it went forward as planned amid unconfirmed reports that the Pentagon had been hit. It was difficult for me to concentrate as I practically felt the fearful energy outside the conference room door, but I sat there and took notes for a future presentation we were preparing. When we emerged from the meeting shortly after 10:30 (as I recall), so much had already happened and changed in NY and DC. The Pentagon hit was confirmed and rumors of car bombs and explosions in Arlington and the District circulated. I have never been able to look at that VP the same way since that day. On the first anniversary of the September 11th attacks, I worked. My office provided flag and memorial ribbon pins to employees. We posted a message from the president of our parent company, headquartered in Michigan, on our Intranet, but that was it. Board members from our parent company were in town and concerns about “how disruptive” or painful some form of recognition might be, or how even a moment of silence at the time of the Pentagon hit might be construed as an endorsement of religion by the management lead them instead to do nothing to commemorate the day or the lives lost. The silence over the events that had occurred the previous year was deafening to me. These were the people with whom I had experienced most of the event. We’d stood shoulder-to-shoulder listening and watching as the horror unfolded, and yet…no a word, not even a nod or knowing look. I felt isolated by my personal need to remember, to memorialize, to talk about it—but no one talked. I cried quietly at my desk listening to NPR and CNN coverage of the various memorials and events most of the day while work went on around me. I needed to remember in a deliberate and respectful way what had occurred. This year, I didn't know how I would feel, but I knew that I could not deal with the surrealism of the office going on with business as usual and the lack of acknowledgement I’d experienced the previous year. This year there were no pins, no flags on workstations, and no discussion of what and how the day should be handled—not with the employees as it had the previous year anyway. When I notified fellow employees or other business associates that I would be off, some people asked me if I was “doing something fun.” The question dumbfounded me. To some I simply answered, “It is September 11th.” Then, they would ask (their tone of voice changing): “Oh, did you know someone?” To others, I simply said, “no, nothing fun” without making further explanation. No, I didn’t know "someone," but I didn't need to either. I know lots of people who knew and lost someone--in the towers, at the Pentagon or aboard a plane. I also know people--friends and family--who were there and thankfully survived. Whether or not I knew them personally did not and does not matter to me. I explained my feelings this way: On September 11, 2001, thousands of lives stopped (tens of thousands more had their lives irrevocably changed). The least I could do on the anniversary of that day was to stop for a few hours to remember them. Not their deaths alone, but their lives. To read about their lives and look at their faces…the same way I would wish that someone, at least one someone, would remember me after I pass from this life. Getting back to the business of life was important right after September 11, 2001, so as not to give in to terror (I was at work on September 12th). And, I don’t immerse myself in recollections of those events and the devastation daily, weekly or even monthly—I couldn’t. I continue to live my life, but for brief time in September I do stop and think and remember. I think of those lost and of the survivors. I read their stories. I think of the heroes—known and unknown. I can’t explain entirely why I need to take all this information and dwell on it…at least for a while. Obviously, not everyone does or can. I have been reading about the journalists who covered the events as they unfolded. How many just instinctively grabbed a notebook or camera and ran into the face of danger and terror—not a thought to whether or not this was a safe place to be; and also not a thought about Pulitzer prices or career advancement. The thoughts and stories they gathered and shared were about informing the public—about documenting history. Like them, I feel a deep need to record and report history—even if just my own personal story of September 11th. [ ] |
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