September 11, 2012

I Remember


I will always remember.

I was on the bus heading to work, running a little late.  My nose stuck in a paperback novel.

We’d just exited the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel, Manhattan side, sitting in a bit of traffic, when people started yelling and getting out of their seats.

“Oh my God, those poor people!” will forever stick in my head.

I, of course, didn’t see what they saw until everyone was back in their seats and being quiet.  I looked and looked and thought, “What am I missing?” Then I spotted it: An airplane sticking out of the side of a building.

By the time we moved the few feet to land under the overpass, cars were piling up.  People started worrying about getting to work late and decided to get off the bus and take the train.  We didn’t know the danger that had moved into our city, our country.  We didn’t know we were under attack.

I’d only been working in midtown a few months and being unfamiliar with the trains, decided to stay on the bus along with five other women.  As I watched everyone walk toward the World Trade Center, the vibrations began.  They weren’t coming from just the floor under my feet, but from every direction.  Shielded from the bus and the overpass, I couldn’t see what was causing the bus to shake.  It’s ending was abrupt.  The next thing I remember is seeing people on the street screaming and pointing; hands covering their mouths, nestled against their hearts.

“Those poor people.”

I later learned the vibrations were the second plane finding its mark.

The bus driver was kind enough to take us back to Staten Island via Brooklyn.  It took 5 hours.  In those five hours we watched, from afar, as the burning buildings collapsed.  There, then gone.  We learned of the plane crashing into the Pentagon and the plane that crashed in PA.

That awful sinking feeling took root in my stomach.

We were all family that day.

Today, I remember the fallen and those they left behind.  I honor the men and women who are fighting and have fought for our freedom.

I will remember to appreciate my blessings, the biggest and the smallest ones.

Most especially, I am reminded what a blessing it is to be an American.

1 comment:

Pat Garcia said...

Hi,
And that is something that we should not forget. No matter where I go or where I live, I am proud to be an American.
We are the most gracious people at helping others throughout the world.
I wish you you a nice weekend and fun with your writing.
Ciao,
Patricia