Remembering

by Joyce

I originally posted this on my blog on the Fifth anniversary of the event that changed many lives. I thought it was appropriate to post it again.

Just like previous generations remember where they were when Pearl Harbor was attacked, or when President Kennedy was assassinated, this generation will remember where they were when terrorists flew planes into the World Trade Center five years ago.

I was only six when President Kennedy was killed. I remember the nuns at school crying and sending us home early. I remember the television being on constantly and playing "funeral" with my younger sister and my cousins, using our toy box as a coffin. Being so young, it didn't make a great impression on me.

September 11, 2001 was different. In many ways, this event was more horrific than both Pearl Harbor and the Kennedy assassination. We were attacked on our own soil. It wasn't a military attack. It was a cowardly attack on innocent civilians.

I was at work entering police reports into the computer. The phone rang and when I answered it, the wife of one of the police officers told me to turn on the television, that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center. In the squad room, the TV was already on, and we watched the events unfold. At the time, most of us thought that it was an accident--that a plane had malfunctioned somehow and hit the tower. No one even considered that it might be deliberate, until we watched a second plane hit the other tower, then the Pentagon and Shanksville.

I don't remember what I thought at the time, other than that things would never be the same. Even in our suburban police department, we took extensive precautions. We locked down the building, installing a temporary phone outside for visitors to call to gain entry to the building. We remained in this lock-down mode for days. Keys to the police cars had always been left in the cars--after all, who would steal a car from a police parking lot? Not any more. We had to worry about terrorists taking the cars and using them as bombs. Even now, the keys are kept in a lock box inside the station.

There were numerous other precautions taken, investigations done, and assistance given by our department to federal agencies involved in preventing more attacks. Before 9/11, our police department had only been concerned about DUIs, drugs, domestics, and traffic violators.
That all changed in one day.

We'd lost our innocence.

After five years, though, complacency has returned. No one thinks about the attacks anymore. I know it's not good to dwell on the tragedy, but we shouldn't forget. For a time, people changed. They cared about each other. They went out of their way to help others. If anything good came out of 9/11, it was that. Maybe with this fifth anniversary, people will not only remember the tragedy, but remember how we all felt afterward. How we were better people for helping our fellow man.

Do you remember where you were and what you were doing on 9/11/2001? Please share. I'd like to hear your story.

The Tragedies of Picture-Perfect Days

By Pat Remick

A perfect fall day – the piercingly blue cloudless sky, the gentle warmth from the sunlight dappling the trees, and the air crisp from the tiniest hint of cool weather to come.

Those of us who live in the Northeast can never forget that September 11, 2001, began as a picture-perfect days like this. By the time it ended, our world had changed forever.

In my mind’s eye, I still see the dark sedans parked across the street that confirmed my fear that the American Airlines pilot who lived there was aboard one of the planes that slammed into the World Trade Center towers. Although I did not know him well, I was certain even then that my neighbor would never have flown that plane into a building, even at gunpoint. This could only mean that an unknown force of unspeakable evil was involved.

The terror and heartbreak of that horrific day left scars on us all. For me, they added to another wound that also refuses to heal – the pain of a similarly gorgeous autumn day two years earlier.
The foliage blaze of glory that greeted me as I drove out of the neighborhood with my son on that October morning remains seared into my memory. Trying to concentrate on the day’s to-do list led by his dental appointment, I nearly missed the approach of my cousin’s car from the other direction. I was late, as always, and considered not stopping. But her unexpected appearance was too unusual to ignore.

I hit the brakes, put the car in park and hurried toward her vehicle, which by now had turned around and parked behind me in the middle of the intersection. When I saw her face, I knew something was terribly wrong. I never expected to hear that her brother had been murdered.

This month marks the 10th anniversary of his tragic death at the age of 34. The man who stabbed him with an 8-inch fishing knife after the two argued outside a bar, and then drove away to leave my cousin bleeding to death in the middle of a darkened street, is petitioning to get out of prison early. The indescribable pain continues. I only hope this feeling adds a dimension to my crime fiction that reminds people of the humanity of the victims and the enduring grief of their loved ones.

On a lovely fall day not long ago, I glanced up at the unblemished blue sky and rather than be grateful for nature’s gift, I uttered a silent prayer that the perfect autumn day would end quickly and without tragedy.

When I told a friend about the unease I feel on such beautiful fall days, she admitted she feels it, too, after 9/11. Another acquaintance says she and her husband descrube them as "9/11 days." I suspect the term will end up in a book someday because so many of us would understand it. Dramatic events seem to have that kind of collective effect.

How about you? Do you have vivid memories that fill you with dread -- or better yet, with joy -- when you experience a certain type of day?