Remembering...

I couldn’t help noticing how vivid and blue the sky was as I drove down Ward Parkway this morning. “Just like it was in New York 5 years ago,” I thought. Five years ago. Such a long time, and yet in so many ways it feels like just yesterday.

That morning, 5 years ago, was ordinary in every way. I drove Katherine’s car pool and dropped the girls off at their school just before 8am. I normally listened to NPR in the car, but that morning, for some reason I did not. I arrived at work and was checking e-mail before our 8:30 loan committee meeting when a message from Julie Ladage flashed across my screen. “There is a report that an airplane has flown into the World Trade Center.” I immediately thought of a small 2-4 passenger plane bouncing off the side of the tower and crashing at its feet. It was news for sure, and tragic, but I wondered why Julie had bothered to send the message.

A few moments later I turned around to see most of the loan committee huddled around the TV set in the board room. Knowing they must be following the report of the ill-fated plane, I went to see what had happened.

The room was deathly silent as I walked in, and the look on their faces told me in an instant what the television did not. Something very terrible, something much worse than what I had first imagined, had happened.

I sat with my co-workers, our eyes riveted to the television screen. After many minutes, we turned it off and tried to hold our meeting. We were distracted, antsy. Someone rushed in and told us that one of the towers had just collapsed. I still remember how Grant flew for the television set to turn it on. I’ve replayed that scene in my mind so many times. The look on his face – the disbelief, the incredulousness.

Reports that numerous attacks were taking place across the country began to filter in. I believed them and realized that my life was changing, had already changed, forever. I had no idea what to expect, but my brain switched into automatic and I began planning for the worst.

I called my Mom and we made a plan for our families to meet at our house at the lake. It was remote, away from any military targets. “We can fish there if we need to,” I remember Mom saying. I asked my Mom to go pick up my Grandma and I called my closest friends and urged them to make similar plans to escape with their families in the event things got much worse.

I called Sam and we called Katherine’s school to find out what was happening there.
“The students are watching the news on tv,” we were told, “Their teachers are with them.”
“Do you have a bomb shelter?” I asked. “We do,” the woman answered.

I called my brother’s wife Krista and learned Kelly was in Canada. I told Krista about the plan to meet at the lake if things got worse. I told her to bring her parents. I wondered how many people we should invite to the lake house.

I called the body shop where my car was being worked on and told them I was coming to pick it up. I didn’t care if the work was complete. My car was the most reliable of our vehicles and I wanted reliable transportation in case we had to flee the city. Sam and I both filled our cars with gas.

Next I drove to the grocery store and bought 20 jugs of water, 100 power bars and a dozen cans of beans. I remember the clerk giving me a strange look as she rang up my order. Surely she knew what I was doing, but we didn’t discuss it.

By the time I was finished it was nearly 11am and I decided to go back to the bank. I was too afraid to listen to the news in the car by myself, afraid of what I might hear. As I pulled into the parking garage, I felt something give way inside my chest and I put my head on the steering and for the first time began to cry. I remember thinking that as bad as what was happening was, it was only the beginning. I remember thinking that things could only get worse, much worse, before they got better. I remember trying to imagine what would come in the ensuing weeks and months. I hoped I was strong enough and smart enough to endure it.

I went back into the bank, took out a bunch of cash from our account and then sat at my desk. I took off my glasses and decided to never hide behind them again. I put them in my top desk drawer. They’ve been there ever since.

I stared at my computer screen and waited, combing the internet for news. Sam closed his office and sent everyone home. Scotti called from Australia. I was so relieved to hear her voice.

That night, Sam, Katherine and I sat in the living room and watched President Bush as he addressed the nation. I remember taking some comfort in his remarks, something I never felt again after that night.

We’d hung a new painting over our fireplace mantle the night before, a painting Sam and I bought each other as an anniversary gift. I’d admired that painting of two wolves with mysterious eyes for years. But as I looked up at it after the events of the morning, I saw scary eyes, evil eyes. I wanted to take it down, or at least cover it up, but Sam encouraged me to wait, to see how I felt the next day. (It took me over a year to love that painting again)

September 11th turned into September 12th and 13th and that Friday we had a party out on our deck. I asked every one to bring a candle and we lit them and someone said a prayer. We were all grieving, but if felt so good to have that many people together on my deck. If I could have convinced them to spend the night, I would have. The next week we had a Chiefs party. More than half the people who came didn’t even care about the game. We were all just hungry for companionship, and to get away from the news and from our own thoughts for a few moments.

A lot happened over the next 6 months. Joel Book moved in with us. We began the war in Afghanistan. There was the anthrax scare. “Let’s Roll” became our battle cry.

I spent many, many nights sitting at the kitchen table talking with Sam, trying to make sense of it all. I read everything I could about the people who died that day. I cried nearly every night. I imagined myself trapped in flames. I imagined myself jumping from a window. I imagined myself determining to overtake hijackers. I imagined my death. I felt split open and shattered into a million pieces. I felt more alive than I’d ever felt before.

Six months later, on the 6 month anniversary of the attacks, I flew to New York City to spend 2 nights and 3 days volunteering at St. Paul’s Chapel, which stood at the foot of the World Trade Centers and served as a place of respite for the thousands of people who were working to clean up the rubble.

It was a healing experience for me. It was a turning point. This next post is what I wrote about it.