The first thing I remember about that day was the sky. It was a remarkable shade of blue, so clear and crisp. It was shaping up to be an amazingly beautiful day, or so I thought. I had just dropped my husband(then fiance) off at his job at a framing store at the mall, and continued on my short drive to my office. As always I tuned the radio to 95.5 WPLJ in New York.
As I drove, they were talking about something that had just occurred in the city. Apparently, there was a terrible accident and a plane flew into one of the towers of the World Trade Center. They were speculating that it was probably a small private plane, and perhaps the pilot had some medical emergency which caused him/her to crash. They were trying to make sense of something that just didn't. I was anxious to get to the office so I could turn the TV on and we could see what was going on. As I pulled into my parking space I thought, "how does someone accidently fly a plane into the World Trade Center?". The gut reaction that immediately followed would turn out to be chillingly accurate. It was very simply "You don't".
When I got into the office my co-workers already had the TV on and I saw the scene they were describing on the radio. I thought of the people in that building. I wondered how they would get out, and the WTC bombing in 1993 kept entering my mind.
We all stood watching for a few minutes, and then we saw something. One of my co-workers said "hey that plane is a little close isn't it?". She barely got the words out as we watched in horror as the second plane plunged into the other tower of the World Trade Center. Any possible thoughts of an accident were gone. In that instant my thought of "you don't", rang in my head. I called my husband and told him what was going on. Then I called my parents who were on vacation, told my mother what had happened, and told her to turn on the TV.
Much of the rest of my time in the office that day is a blur. We were glued to the TV, and we watched in disbelief as the buildings burned. The news broke of the crash at the Pentagon, and of other hijacked planes. We cried out of fear of what would be next, and out of grief for people who's lives had been lost.
I'll never forget the sound that came over the TV after a while. At first I thought something else had been attacked. It took only seconds to realize the sound was one of the towers crumbling to the ground. It was non stop, the horror and grief just kept coming. After the first tower fell, we waited, knowing the other tower would meet the same fate. We hoped and prayed that people in the remaining tower could get out before it too collapsed. We watched the other tower fall, and heard of the crash of Flight 93.
A little before noon my boss told us to go home for the day. The mall my husband worked at was closing so I got him, and we tried to reach people we knew who lived in NY. We went home and watched the events of the day over and over, and cried for those lost.
Seven years later, and I can put myself back there like it was yesterday. Last night I was looking at pictures and videos of the attacks and aftermath, and cried like I did the day it happened. I cried for the people who were there, who lost their lives, and who lost loved ones. I cried for all of us who watched this horror unfold before our eyes. I cried for that "something" we all lost that day.
