I Remember

I remember exactly where I was the day the towers fell. I, with the faulty memory, can remember every second of that day in vivid detail. It’s like a movie that plays across my mind every single year at this time.

In 2001, I was working for the College of Charleston in SC. I was a Residence Hall Director – I was directly responsible for the 300 students that lived in McConnell Residence Hall on Wentworth Street. My dorm was co-ed, and split evenly between guys and girls.

9/11 started like any other day. I overslept because I had been up late the night before. I got up, took a shower, and wandered out to the front desk with wet hair and no makeup to make sure the student worker had shown up for his shift. He was sitting there, a look of terror and grief on his face.

“What’s wrong?" I asked. He pointed wordlessly at the television that was mounted in the lobby.

I can’t describe to you how I felt as I saw the towers burning. I can’t even put into words what I felt when I saw the replay of the planes hitting the towers. I sat in silence, with a heavy heart and a sense of disbelief that yes, this was truly happening.

I went back into my room to get dressed, and I immediately started a room by room check of all my students. “How are you?" I asked. “Has this affected anyone you know?”  Most students I encountered were simply in shock. It was enough for them for me to simply ask how they were and if they needed to talk to anyone.

I finished my rounds and went back to my room to watch more footage of the attack. It was then that I saw the towers fall, and I remember sitting in my apartment, tears streaming down my face, and thinking “this can’t really be happening.” Some stations showed footage of people leaping from the fire. Later I learned of the attack at the Pentagon, and of the other plane’s crash.

I left my door open that day, and many people stopped by to talk. I think everyone just wanted assurance. In the afternoon, I got a panicked call from a suite on the 3rd floor. I was told that one of the boys had locked himself in the bathroom with a knife and he refused to come out. I immediately called Public Safety, alerted my boss, and ran to the room. It took hours to talk the student out of the bathroom, and when he did come out (unharmed), he told us he just couldn’t make sense of what had happened.

I don’t think any of us could.

Around 5:00, several of my Resident Assistants came by to get me to go to dinner. I had been running around all day, trying to reassure people and make sure everyone was ok. We walked to nearby King Street, and the sky was dark and stormy. I remember thinking that it perfectly matched what had happened that day. There was a silence in the streets – which in a college town is quite rare.

That night I watched as President Bush addressed the country. I remember thinking that lines of tragedy were etched onto his face. He looked as if he had aged 10 years overnight. I remember feeling pride and hope in his words – we were a country united. This horror would not be in vain. We would triumph.

Later that week, CofC had a memorial service, and thousands turned out to pay our respects. I held the hands of complete strangers and found comfort in the fact that someone besides me laid awake at night thinking of those who had died. Prayers were said, tears were shed, and in our hearts a fire of pride and compassion was lit.

We were united.

As we approach the 10 year anniversary, I’ve heard people say that people have forgotten. That we are no longer patriotic. That what happened doesn’t matter.

It matters to me. It has shaped who I am. I will never forget.

I can’t pretend to understand why this happened. I don’t understand the type of hate that makes you willing to sacrifice your life and slaughter thousands of people.

But no matter the tragedy, our country survives. It is in the midst of great storms that we find out who we are, and this was no exception. As much as this was a historic tragedy, it was also a triumph of our country’s spirit. For me, watching the compassion and patriotism of America grow was beautiful. Suddenly, life was no longer about me. It was about us.

I pray for those who lost their lives. I give thanks to God that there were individuals who fought their circumstances, determined to fight despite the probability that their death was imminent. I praise that there were courageous people who stepped in to do whatever they could to help – whether that be searching for survivors, running into a building heavy with fire and smoke, or donating money to relief and restoration efforts.

I thank God that I live in a country where there are people willing to sacrifice their life for their country and for their fellow man. I thank God for every person who lent a hand that day. For those who helped others walk countless flights of steps, never knowing if they were make it to the bottom. For firefighters and policemen who ran into burning buildings, not knowing if they would make it home that night to their families. for the rescue workers who combed through rubble month after month, trying to find bodies to provide closure to grieving families.

I will always remember.