Stealing September 11

Isn't it a shame that we can't all just grieve for the loss of life (or even loss of innocence) on 9/11 without it turning into a political statement? That just flat out pisses me off.

As we look back five years, I remember what I was wearing that day. I remember the weather that beautiful, sunny day. And I very much remember when a younger colleague came into my office and told me that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York. Immediately, I thought about the small plane that hit the Empire State Building in the 1940s and figured this was one of those terrible, but minor, accidents. We all trooped to the TV in our office and were shocked beyond belief to see the black smoke coming out of one of the buildings. To the best of my memory I did not actually witness the second plane crash, but my recollection is that only one was burning when we first turned on the TV.

It didn't take long for a crowd to gather around the TV in our office, and it didn't take long to hear that at least one of the hijacked planes had come from the very same airport that was right outside our window. For what seemed like a long time (but actually turned out to be less than 45 minutes at max), we all wandered from the TV to our offices, making phone calls to loved ones, receiving emails and IMs from our colleagues from around the world. I distinctly remember a message from a friend in Belgium wishing us well and asking if it was as bad as he was hearing on the news in Brussels. ("It's worse," I remember telling him.) I also remember calling my husband to let him know we were leaving the office and I'd be home "when I get there." In my imagination, I expected some kind of nightmare scenario in which I'd have to fight my way down the Mass. Pike.

As it turned out, the traffic wasn't bad, but it was a heartbreaking ride in which I heard about the collapse of the World Trade Center, and the many rumors that were flying about...like car bombs at the State Department, evacuations of the major political buildings in Washington, DC, and the actual plane crash at the Pentagon.

Eventually, of course, we all made it home from wherever we were that day, and none of us will never forget any of these details. It's a cliche of the highest order to liken the events of September 11 to remembering where we were when Kennedy was shot (I was taking a spelling test in 4th grade) and where our parents were when Pearl Harbor was hit. But another memory I have is of the unity we all felt, the real sense of "all being in it together."

Last night, we re-watched a 9/11 film done by a couple of French brothers who were embedded with a New York City firehouse. They were filming the fire fighters for a documentary, and ended up being swept up in the events of the day...including being at the World Trade Center when it collapsed. This show brought back the horror of the day, which I (for one) had begun to be too sanguine about. With the repetition of "9/11," "9/11," "9/11," by politicians of every stripe...with color-coded terror alerts...with taking off our shoes before going through security at the airports, we've all sort of assimiliated September 11, 2001 into some sort of acceptability. But watching the film last night and hearing the bodies drop onto the pavement brought the old feeling back...the one that had me weeping while I drove to work in the days after September 11th.

It also reminded me of the reasons why I bought a small flag on the streets of New York when we visited in October 2001, and why I was waving it madly when firefighters paraded past us on Fifth Avenue during New York's Columbus Day parade. Those of you who know me know I'm not the flag-waving type.

And it's why I'm pissed today.