I normally don't indulge in these types of posts. They make me sad, for one, and for another, I question their relevance - sometimes they seem just like self-indulgance. But this one, this one I'm writing for my daughter.
Dear Zoë,
There are a few things in your life that you'll remember - that will truly stick with you. Moments in time. There is your wedding day, and the birth of your child. And unfortunately, there are the tragedies. I've got 3. 3 tragedies that will always stick with me - one for every decade I lived. When I was little, in Kindergarten, the Challenger. And in my first year of college, the Aggie Bonfire collapse. And when I was only a little older, September 11th. Some day I'll write about each of these experiences for you but today on the 10th anniversary of September 11th, I'll write about it.
I woke up on the morning of September 11, 2001 and headed to a 9am class - I think it was an anthropology or archaeology class... At the time I lived in the Rio Grande apartment in Austin with Emily on top of the pizza joint - my balcony faced the Tower to the east. I don't remember anything special about that morning. The class was 9-11am, and then I headed over to the stadium to pick up my wristband for the Texas-OU ticket lottery. I remember noticing a crowd of people standing watching a TV, one of those TVs that is mounted above a concession stand so that you don't miss the game while you're buying food. I thought that was weird, but hurried by as I was headed to another class. This is where my memory gets hazy. I got there and was surprised at how few people were in class. The professor never showed, so I waited the requisite 15 minutes and then headed back to the apartment, again noticing how few people were around campus, and thinking it odd. When I got back, Emily and her boyfriend were planted in front of the TV, and that's how/when I found out.
I planted myself right next to them for the next several days, leaving only to sleep and go to classes, almost all of which were cancelled when I arrived. I have a strong memory of Dr. Armstrong coming into my Latin class with a 2 line ode, taking about 5 minutes to translate it with us while obviously holding back tears, and then abruptly striding out. I remember how eerily quiet it was in the days following with no people out and about and no airplanes in the sky. I remember this irrational fear that we could be in danger, blocks away from the capitol building - I now think that probably everyone in big cities felt that fear - no one really knew what was happening, and if there were going to be more attacks. And I distinctly remember the first time I heard an airplane in the sky again and how *wrong* and scary it felt.
I can't tell you when things went back to normal, because I don't think they ever really did. I don't live my life in fear the way I did in the weeks following. But I remember a carefree time before 9/11, and I don't think that ever really came back.
I didn't know anyone who died that day. But when I read the stories of those who died, or the stories of the loved ones who survived, my heart breaks for the people who were there and their families. No one can ever lessen the impact of what happened - of the hole that was ripped into the fabric of so many lives. I look at you, my sweet baby, and cannot imagine the gut-wrenching loss.
But I also look at you and I hope for peace. You and all babies are the epitome of how people should be - open, trusting, caring, curious, inquisitive, and peaceful. In my heart I believe that these qualities you demonstrate are the core of every human being, and all the hate and anger and strife are learned behaviors that we can all rise above. I wish you a world filled with enlightened, intelligent, peaceful people, where the memory of this tragedy lives on as a lesson of the dire consequences we face as individuals and as a society when we allow negative emotions to overpower us. I wish for you a world in which you don't have one tragedy per decade to remember to your little one.
In the meantime, it's a big world out there - be safe.
Love always and forever,
Mama
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