It's hard to believe that it was eighteen-years ago today that the United States came under a major attacked, on U.S. soil by terrorists.
I was living in Seattle at the time and received a call from my sister at 5:45-ish in the morning—my time. My first reaction was annoyance. She knew better than to call me before 8:00 my time since ‘rise-and-shine’ was never my thang. But when I picked up the phone, there was real terror in her voice, so I sat up in bed worried that something awful had happened.
My sister was/is a flight attendant with American Airlines and until only August of 2001, had been based in Boston. In September, she was transferred from Boston to Dallas/Fort Worth. The first thing she said was more of a command: “Turn on the T.V.” Which was immediately followed by, “I’m okay. I’m not on that plane.”
As my eyes adjusted to the light, and the fog cleared from my brain, I saw an image of black smoke coming out of the North Tower of the World Trade Center, while the anchors of Good Morning America talked back and forth in serious tones about a plane flying into the building… not sure if it was an accident—or something else. They were reticent to use the “T” word at first. Personally, I hoped against hope that it was an accident, and that the plane was empty. But I knew better. I was certain this was a terrorist attack, and that meant that the plane was full of people, and flown deliberately into the building.
Neither one of us knew what to say. We couldn’t articulate what we were feeling. It was just too insane. But being on the phone together meant that we were still ‘together’ in the midst of this horrific event. Neither of us wanted to hang up now. It was too important that we still had each other and hanging up would “disconnect” us. As to the plane crew (Flight 11), My sister already knew who was working that flight, including her best friend in the world: Jeff Collman.
She didn’t mention him right away because she didn’t want to entertain, just yet, the worst. As we continued talking, mostly trying to reassure each other, another plane, Flight 175, hit the South Tower, and we both watched it happen live—in real time. There was an audible gasp—I think even a scream—shared by both of us, and I went numb. We were under attack.
I think it was around this time when I saw people literally jumping from the building—the floors above the fire—as if defiantly telling these terrorists they didn’t get to control their destiny. Cameras zoomed in, and the sight made me sick. I was so unnerved I almost couldn’t talk. Which worked out well since my sister’s call waiting clicked, and the caller ID showed it was our mom, from her office at the FAA in Seattle. When she answered the phone my mom just screamed in both panic and relief.
My sister would need to hang up with me and try and talk my mom down.
The rest of the day was surreal, as it was for all of us. I went to the gym, then to work, and tried to act as if it were just a normal day, but it wasn’t. I did very little work that day. I spent most of it online trying to learn as much as I could about the attacks. The problem was, nobody really knew what was going on.
Then the other shoe dropped, in Arlington. At 9:30 am, Flight 77 crashed into west side of the Pentagon. Soon after, the towers collapsed. Then came the reports of how the passengers of flight 93 overcame the hijackers crashed the airplane into a field in Western Pennsylvania. (Probably headed for the White House.)
The next few weeks were painful, with daily (sometimes hourly) calls from my sister who was starting to fall apart due to the immensity of the loss to her personally. As a flight attendant she was given the option to take time off, which she did, but the flight attendant community is a small community, and there was a lot of back-and-forth, a lot of speculation, and of course, they all knew how the final moments of Flight 11’s crew went down. Especially since the pilot, John Ogonowski, turned on a comm switch with tower so they could hear what happened.
While I was never as close to the Flight 11 crew as my sister, I had met some of them. They used to fly the Boston to Seattle run often, and I would pick them up at their hotels, take them around the city. I like acting as a tour guide. Especially since I got to show them parts of the area they didn’t normally get to see. When we were done, we’d all go out and eat. Our last outing was only weeks before the event happened. I had no way of knowing that I was sharing a day with people who would soon disappear forever.
A few weeks later, my sister went back to work, and the first man to walk up the tarmac was Muslim, dressed in Muslim headdress. It was a profound moment for her. Does she walk off the plane? Was she right to be afraid? She told me afterward that she saw a look of terror in his eyes as well, as if he knew she… and others… were blaming him for what happened. She smiled slightly, and then showed him where his seat was.
That was eighteen years ago. Then, on 10 July, 2017, her husband, the man/marine who buoyed her through the trauma of 9/11, was killed when the KC-130 he was in blew apart in the sky over Greenwood, Mississippi. I wrote about it here in A Marine’s Final Journey.
While I wasn’t in the arena for these events, I was definitely on the front row, and that kind of hatred, animosity, and violence has left an indelible impression in my mind. I live close to the memorial, so I go as often as I can, and I take visiting friends there too. I remember! For those who died, for those who lost loved ones, and for our children, I remember. I remember so we can find a way to deal with our differences that doesn’t destroy lives.
Every year my sister remembers the people she lost on that flight, and this year I’m remembering them to you.
❤️ Jeff Collman, I miss you so much! I miss laughing for hours, talking about nothing and your crazy antics.
❤️ Karen Martin, I miss your wicked funny sense of humor, your laugh and our walks on all our sunshine layovers.
❤️ John Ogonowski, you were fiercely protective and kind. Even in your last moments, you thought to turn on a switch that communicated with tower. With you, we were always a team. We loved you, even though we knew you were a pilot.
❤️ Tom McGuinness, you had character, wit and you were Christ-like. Best of all, you put up with us crazy people with no judgement, patience and always a smile.
❤️ Amy Sweeney, you are truly a hero! You were calm, and brave. You called and spoke your last breath to tell the nation who the evil was, where they were sitting and what was happening on that airplane.
❤️ Betty Ong, you as well are a hero. Speaking your last breath to give the facts and telling them what was happening on board.
❤️ Dianne Snyder, you loved your family, your friends, picking apples and especially loved to laugh.
❤️ Jean Roger, you were kind and adventurous
❤️ Kathy Nicosia, you were our kind, nurturing galley queen, who taught me a thing or two.
❤️ Bobbi Arestegui, you were spunky and vivacious
❤️ Sara Low, you were impossible to be in a bad mood around. Your smile covered your whole being and you always put us in a better mental space.