I was a freshman in college. It was my second week in the dorms in Southern California, recently having moved back to my favorite coast after spending the last three years of high school in Washington, DC. Since I was on west coast time, it was quite early when my mom called our dorm room. She told me what had happened, but I didn't understand. I didn't wake my roommate. I went back to sleep. Then my aunt called (she lived about an hour away) and asked what I was doing, I remember exactly how she sounded saying, gently but insistently, "oh honey, you should really get up." Only then did it click in my brain that this was a big deal.
My new roommate and I walked down to the big auditorium. They had wheeled in TVs in the aisles so we could watch what was going on. I remember how dark it was in there, and how gorgeous and sunny it was outside. How we wondered if classes were cancelled, but didn't care because we weren't going.
Since our school was extremely liberal, the anti-war protests started that week, and continued almost weekly for months afterward. I didn't know what to think, I thought I had left DC to get away from politics and get back to carefree California life. I had just started a relationship with my first serious boyfriend (who turned out to be a serious jerk), an army veteran who immediately started talking about re-enlisting. My cousin's Bar Mitsvah was scheduled for the following Saturday in Calabasas (a suburb outside Los Angeles), with dozens of family members scheduled to fly in from New York City. My aunt and uncle didn't know if they should cancel, didn't know if the family would be able to get themselves to fly across the country, didn't know how celebratory the spirit could be given the devastating events. But what could they do? Dylan only turned 13 once, so they went ahead with the plans.
I recall an event on campus a year later in recognition of 9/11 and a girl from NYC spoke whose father was missing for a few days after the attacks. She cried as she talked about how scared she was, how far away she felt. It was incredibly moving, and brought the tragedy much closer to my world.
I can't believe it's been 10 years. How different life is as a 28 year old woman than it was as an 18 year old girl. How much our country has changed since then. How friends and loved ones have been affected by the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. How many have lost their lives.
On today's date last year Nic and I were in New York City, on the whirlwind trip I won through HUE. That afternoon as we walked back to our hotel from checking out
the high line with friends, we walked by a fire station and all of a sudden the whole anniversary became... so real. I wasn't prepared for the feelings I had. Suddenly the effects of those attacks were almost in front of me. These people were there, or knew folks who were there, and had lost friends, colleagues, family members. After spending the afternoon laughing and taking in the sights... an unanticipated wave of sadness took me over and tears sprang to my eyes.
"Dedicated to the Memory of the Courageous Officers and Firefighters of BATALLION 9 who made the Supreme Sacrifice on 9/11/01 that others may live."
My heart goes out to all people affected by 9/11... those who lost loved ones, those who were brave in a time of crisis, those who lost their lives abroad, those still affected by the trauma suffered during war, those still affected by the prejudices enhanced by 9/11. It was, and continues to be, a big deal.
