Kevin [Content Notice: Today’s post contains mention of ppl who have passed on, as well as stuff about murder and terrorism. If these are things you’re not in the headspace to hear about, give this post a miss, and go check out some of my other stuff. We’ll kick it together some other time. Deal? If you decide to move forward w/ this post, and it brings up difficult feelings for you, I encourage you to reach out to the peeps at the Crisis Text Line.]
Monday, September 10th, 2001
It’s Happy New Week and Happy Monday, and the start of a new work week. After 2 days off, or 2 days working at a different job, it’s back to the main job somewhere at a company at Tower 1 or Tower 2.
Or it could be in whichever department at the Pentagon.
Everyone scheduled to report for duty early woke up at the butt crack of daybreak so as not to be late for their shift, wherever it was at.
For those of us who were still in school at the time (like yours truly was), it was get up and get ready for the bus.
The day was business as usual, which can mean a million different things to a million different ppl. For me, it was World History, Science, then another couple classes I don’t remember at this point, then lunch, more classes, and I was done.
I got home in time to catch the last of the PBS Kids shows, which was a programming block in the style of One Saturday Morning and TNBC, but on PBS at that time. It would be years later that PBS Kids would become its own channel.
I got home in time for Clifford the Big Red Dog and Arthur. Zoom was still on its reboot run, but I was over it, so it was time to switch it over to Oprah. Full House and Roseanne would be next on my list after Oprah.
Monday Night Football would also be on, but later that evening. I didn’t watch it, but I remember someone mention they did in a documentary I saw years ago.
Sure, I had homework left over from what I managed to plow through during school, but I had no plans to actually do any of it.
My journals and story, however, was something different.
Tuesday, September 11th, 2001
Another day in a hardcore grind, from the bus to the end of the day.
At the World Trade Center, Tower 1 and Tower 2, ppl came in from all over New York and New Jersey, traveling by foot, by ferry, bike, bus, and subway to the towers. Tourists from around the world stopped by the World Trade Center to get their photo ops on the roof, and in the lobby of one of the towers.
Nearly 3000 ppl left their homes that morning for work or their plans for the day.
Just after 8 AM, EST, a plane struck Tower 1, cutting off all escape access points for the workers of Cantor Fitzgerald and Windows on the World. There was a meeting going on at Windows on the World for a company known as Risk Waters at the time.
It wasn’t long after that when another plane hit Tower 2. Only that time, it hit at a lower level, and didn’t hit all the way through, which left a means of escape for those on the higher levels. Some didn’t realize this, but how could they have known?
Another plane crashed into the Pentagon, and another one crashed in a field in Pennsylvania, originally bound for the White House.
Instead of crashing into the White House, it crashed in a nearby empty field, thanks to a team of passengers who fought back against the hijackers.
In those few short hours, our world changed forever. 12 hours earlier, nearly 3000 ppl were making plans for the evening, for the rest of the week, and for the weekend.
Some were watching Monday Night Football, and probably made what we now call a watch party out of it. For some, it was their last time watching it.
There were books unread and unfinished. Stories unfinished. Movies unwatched. TV shows missed. Neighborhood events unattended. Baseball games unwatched. Football seasons missed. WWE events unattended, and airings unwatched. Health goals unmet. Life goals unmet.
For the youngest in the planes, this also extends to preschool classes unattended. Disney World vacations untaken. Elementary school functions missed. Middle school dances missed. School events missed. Parent-teacher conferences gone. Summer vacations and summer camps missed. No more school graduations. No college applications.
All 3,000 of these lives meant something to someone. Their lives still mean something to someone. They mean something to me.
In honor of the 3,000 lives lost this time 22 years ago, let’s observe a moment of silence. No day shall erase you from the memory of time.
