I don’t WANT to talk about it anymore…

And, I’ll tell you why…

For days and weeks and months following the attacks on the Towers, I was a high-holy mess.  I cried at a drop of a hat, I was afraid, I constantly was checking up on my kids, who were in 7 and 9 when it happened.

I was teaching, at that small high school in the nether-region backwoods of New Jersey.  I was in the middle of a lesson about something or other when a staff member walked into my room to tell me that a Cessna inadvertantly crashed into one of the towers.

“Nonsense,” I said, “You can’t MISS them, they’re freaking HUGE!”

“How bout it,” he said.

And, I went on with teaching.  A short time later, there’s an announcement from the office to lock down the school.

Panic spread throughout the building.  Teachers were grabbing kids wandering aimlessly in the hallway and stuffing them into their classes.  Some were crying, others were dazed.  The news was leaking out slowly from some classrooms with televisions that terrorists flew planes into the Towers and the Nation was under attack.

We closed school at noon and our support staff was setting up a counseling triage, as directed by the Governor, since we were one of the schools closest to a major interstate.  Families of victims ended up congregating at our school, waiting to hear news about their loved ones.

It was a day filled with dread, panic, and fear.  I tried calling my husband on his cell, but the lines were ALL tied.  I called my kids’ school and they were letting the kids go ONLY if a parent came to get them.  They, too were afraid that perhaps a mom or dad wouldn’t return for their child.  Two custodians and myself were trying to call my husband.  I wanted my kids and I wanted them now.  Finally, the chief custodian was able to get through and handed me his phone.

“Where are you?” I asked, panic in my voice.

“On the way to get the kids,” he said shakily.

“I’ll get the older one and  you go get the younger one.  I’ll meet you at home!”

I ran out the door and to my car, driving as safely as I could (but speeding a little, naturally) to get to my son… who was totally oblivious to what had happened.  Thankfully, the teachers in the elementary schools DID NOT PUT ON THE NEWS, unlike many teachers at my h.s. (I refused because I didn’t understand the enormity of it all at the time and was afraid that it would traumatize the kids further.)  When I got there, my husband had #2 son in his arms and was working his way through a chaotic mass of parents to get to the building to get our oldest.  I was terrified that whatever was going on would happen again… especially since EVERY news media was talking about a plane that the authorities couldn’t account for.  Another plane?  Seriously? 

We got the kids home, locked the doors, and put on the television.  For the next several hours, I was glued to the television.  The towers, Pentagon and a downed plane in the fields of Somerset, Pa. 

My phone couldn’t call out… but one by one, people were calling… a friend from Florida who had seen the news and was worried about us since we aren’t very far from NYC… another from Pennsylvania… and our families.  One by one we were able to account for most people…

Then it dawned on me, where is my one cousin… the one who works in Manhattan?

We all panicked.  NO ONE heard from him in hours…

My mother called me several hours later to tell that he was safe.  He was working in mid-town Manhattan when it happened.  He grabbed his tools and he and his co-workers raced to downtown to see what they could do to help.  For the next two weeks, he worked in the debris, sorting and shoveling.  Seven years later, he’s struggling with this illness that he won’t name outloud or admit to, but we all know where it came from–the debris at Ground Zero.

So, today in class, I thought about addressing our 7th anniversary of the terrorist attacks.  But, I realize that it still bears a lot of emotion… as it does for me… when it is recounted over and over again.  So, instead I said, “Today is the 7th anniversary of the attacks.  Let’s remember those who perished as well as their survivors.”  I looked around, gave a warm smile, then nodded.  “Open your notebooks.”

We need to heal… and to an extent I believe that we have.  However, to constantly relive it, to recount ever last detail of that day only brings back the saddness, fear, and dread that we ALL experienced.  We need to look at it to remember what occurred, however, we also need to remember that we are a resilient people who, in the face of adversity, pick ourselves up by our bootstraps and march on with our lives.

So, in memorial of this day… I want to say that I want to think of how much greater the United States can be and that our potential for failure, albeit can be great at times, is always a reminder as to how short life is…

That’s all I want to say.  Have a nice day, everyone!