September 11, 2001 is a day that will live in the minds and hearts of the American people forever. All over the social-networking and blogging world, people are remembering where they were and what they were doing on that bone-jarring, earth-shattering day in American history. I wish I could say that I remember that day simply because the tragedy is a part of our nation's history. Sadly, I remember that day for a whole other reason. My own family was affected by the terrorist attacks. I hesitated to post because I didn't want to cheapen the memory of those who were lost that day nor did I want to downplay the hurt of family members and relatives who still grieve today. My story has a slightly happier ending. Even so, my heart has been heavy and my mind has been whirling. For most of the day yesterday, news channels replayed the footage of the attacks. I think watching that footage is as shocking now as it was nine years ago when I watched it unfold before my own eyes. The pain and confusion and hurt is just as evident today as it was back then.
Fall 2001 was my first semester of college at Valdosta State University. By September, I'd barely had time to figure out what I was doing in this whole new world of freedom or get settled into my daily routine. My first class on Tuesdays and Thursdays was College Algebra in the University Center. I'll never forget crazy Mrs. Bezona, my teacher who had an affinity for Raggedy Ann dolls and talked about her daughter constantly. She was such a sweet woman and was so quick to offer help for those of us who struggled in math. I'll also never forget the kindness she showed me on this day.
September 11th dawned much like many of my other days at college. I slept in, frantically got ready for class, and flew to the college in hopes of finding a parking spot relatively close to my class. Once I made into class, some friends and I were sitting around when our T.A. flew into the classroom and said "Oh my God. You guys won't believe it! A plane just flew into the World Trade Center in New York City." We were all a bit confused and like many people around the world, we thought it was a big joke. Mrs. Bezona came in and confirmed that a plane had hit both of the Twin Towers and the Pentagon and some thought it could be a terrorist attack. My heart literally plummeted to my toes, and I immediately gagged. My ears were full of "white noise" - everything around me sounded fuzzy and tinny. All I heard was plane and Pentagon. In a complete state of shock, I flew out of class into the hallway, gasping for air. I remember sliding down the cold cement wall and placing my head in my hands. My mind was racing, but only no coherent thoughts formed. Words swirled around in my head. Pentagon. Uncle Windell. Plane. Uncle Windell. Crash. Terrorists. Pentagon. Working? Uncle Windell. Working. Pentagon. Plane. Crash. Dead? Tears welled up in my eyes and I couldn't stop them from coursing down my face.
My first coherent thought was that I needed to talk to my mother. I thought that if I talked to her, everything would be ok. I pulled my cell phone out of the pocket of my jeans and started frantically dialing the school where she worked. I kept getting a busy signal, and I started to freak out even more. I remember dialing every phone number I could think of to try and reach Mama, Daddy, or my sister Mandy. No call would go through - I kept getting busy signal after busy signal.
Mrs. Bezona dismissed class and came out in the hallway. I finally managed to string together coherent thoughts and actually form sentences. I told her that my Uncle Windell worked at the Pentagon, and I was terrified that he might be dead. I told her that I couldn't get any of my family members to answer their phones. She led me around the corner to her office and allowed me to use her office phone. I was hoping that only cell phones were jammed, but it seemed that all phone lines were. Eventually I got a call to go through to Mama's school. I spoke with Mrs. Brenda, the secretary, and she told me that Mama wasn't at school that day. I think I eventually got my father on the phone. He told me that Mama was driving my Uncle Johnny down to the hospital in Jacksonville because my Uncle Vernon was very ill. He was not expected to make it through the day. No one was sure about Uncle Windell's safety. His family hadn't heard from him yet.
I remember stumbling over to the U.C.'s food court and sitting with classmates as we watched the horrifying events unfold on television. I was still in a state of shock. They kept replaying the footage over and over. We saw the destruction. And then we saw the live footage of the North Tower collapsing. It's an image I'll never be able to forget. The building just peeled back and plummeted to the ground below. Dust and debris billowed. Such a horrific image forever engraved in my mind.
I don't remember much of the rest of that day. I just remember one thought kept circulating in my mind:
I'm either going to lose one uncle or two today... I'm either going to lose one uncle or two today... I'm either going to lose one uncle or two today...
I do remember spending part of the evening at Hannah and Sarah's apartment. Our parents cautioned us that the news reported that there could possibly be a gas shortage due to rising hysteria across the nation. We drove our cars to fill up, and went back to their apartment to watch more of the news. Later we would go to a candlelight vigil at the Baptist Student Union. Thousands across America were joining together in prayer. It was all we knew to do. Pray for the victims, the ones who lost their lives, the rescue workers who were heroically working the devastation, the survivors who hadn't been dug out of the debris, the family members who were grieving or questioning. All we knew to do was pray.
Eventually that night I was able to speak to Mama. She told me that Uncle Vernon had passed away and that Uncle Windell was safe. I had only lost one uncle that day. I cried. I cried tears of joy and relief. I cried tears of sadness. I cried.
We later learned that Uncle Windell's office was in one of the newly renovated sections of the Pentagon and behind a fire wall. The blast from the plane crash threw him up against a wall. Thank God, he was not seriously injured.
I drove down to Live Oak, Florida the next day to attend the visitation and funeral for Uncle Vernon. It was such an emotional, draining time for our family. Uncle Windell drove down from D.C. for the funeral, and we were all so relieved to see him. Even though our hearts rejoiced over his safety, we were saddened over the loss of another family member. We cried. We cried tears of joy and relief. We cried tears of sadness. We cried.
I remember...
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