Atomictumor

I was in the shower when the first plane hit; October, 3, and Spotz, 10 months, were watching a videotape of Blue’s Clues. My early thoughts that morning were of what I needed to get at the grocery store. And then Bos called from work, and said, “Turn on the TV. Two planes have hit the World Trade Center in New York.”

The world never felt so small. I felt like I could look out my window and see smoke and ash, like I could stick my arm out and feel places thousands of miles away. And I was scared. I watched those clear blue skies and wondered if one of those missing planes was headed for ORNL. Every old junker that backfired going up the road made me jump, made my heart pound. That was the first time I have truly ever worried about my safety.

How removed we are from those who worry about their survival on a daily basis.

I saturated myself with TV and online news coverage.  I couldn’t look away.  As the hours went by, and the footage of grief-stricken people searching the ashy streets of NY for their loved ones, and the stories of people clasping hands and jumping dozens of stories to their deaths, and of all of the folks who died trying to save the lives of strangers.  I grieved then, and I grieve today as I recall all those words and images that struck me 6 years ago.

I imagine there are people out there who poo-poo the media frenzy brought by the 9/11 anniversary.  And sure, some (okay, a lot) of it is overkill.  But I also think it is so important to remember and reflect.  I need to remember, because that’s what feels right to me.

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A few years ago, October brought home a book from the library, Fireboat: The Heroic Adventures of the John J. Harvey. It’s a wonderful story about a restored fireboat that came out of retirement to help in the days following 9/11.  It tells the story of September 11th from a perspective that is good for kids and parents alike.  Check it out if you get a chance; I know that it will be part of our 9/11 remembrance for years to come.