That Day

It was morning. I don't know why I was up so early, but I was. I went into my brother's room where he lay in bed, watching TV. The news was on, so I sat on the bed to watch. A building was billowing clouds of smoke and after a few seconds I recognized it as one of my two favourite buildings in the NYC skyline. I had stood on top of one of those towers. A few minutes later, the second plane hit the South tower. I was speechless. I ran downstairs to call my friend in New York and told him what had happened, later, he sent photos of the many emergency vehicles crowding the NJ side of the Hudson, waiting for casualties that would never come. I thought, they'll have to take off the tops of the buildings, rebuild them somehow. And then, they were gone.
I went to school and then to my volunteer position at the local hospital. Everywhere, people were crowded around televisions, their blank faces betraying the shock and disbelief at what was happening. More reports came, the Pentagon, what probably should have been the White House. I wondered how anyone could have stolen a plane. How on earth did they take-off when runways are so well-regulated and controlled. When I finally realized that there had been passengers on those planes, what already seemed like the most horrific thing I'd ever seen seemed so much more terrible. They took these people and used them as weapons against their own people.
At the hospital, we called all the staff and asked if they could come in on short notice. We expected injured from New York. I was so sure they find pockets of terrified people with dirty faces in the underground subway tunnels, in the big station beneath the towers. I could picture the cheering crowds as they were carried out. But it never happened. They were gone. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, husbands, wives, uncles, aunts, grandparents, friends.

All gone.

A month later, I flew down to New York and saw the devastation for myself. Cried while I stood behind the fences surrounding Ground Zero, marched in a rally for peace, was in awe of the dignity of the people. Everywhere were flags, missing posters, reminders that nothing would ever be the same again. The pilot who flew the plane came out to thank us for flying. Armed soldiers in the airports. Massive lights shining out of the craters.

My heart still aches for those people, the ones in the planes, in the buildings, the ones who fought the plane down into that field, the firefighters, police, paramedics and heroes that ran into the buildings and in some cases BACK into them to rescue others.

And every time I look at a clock and it reads 9:11, I remember.

I will always remember.