Remembering

Ten years have passed, and I suspect like everyone else who lived through it, as soon as the videos from that day begin rolling, so do the tears and the memories of a few defining moments. I started writing down my memories shortly after it happened, figuring someday I'd share it with children who needed to write a report for history class. But that was two computers ago and I have no idea if I ever remembered to print it out. And so here I will write about some of the memories that linger 10 years later.

"All those people! What is going on?"

I will never forget those sobbing words from Ellen, my co-worker at the time. I think it was after we heard of the third plane crash, and she came stumbling down the aisle in the administrative space at the Aquarium. Instantly several of us surrounded her with hugs. It was the first time I thought about the loss of human life, and it was horrifying. Up until that moment, I'd kept what can best be described as fascinated detachment. The former reporter in me wanted to know details - something hard to come by in the basement of the aquarium. Online news sites were overloaded, and radio and TV reception was impossible to get due to the thickness of the foundation walls. My mom did her best to keep me updated throughout the morning by phone and email. Meanwhile, I tried to grasp the implications for Jeff and me, who were supposed to leave for Europe the next day.

"You need to wake up and turn on the news. I don't think we're going on our trip."

I waited about an hour before I couldn't not make Jeff aware of what's going on. He'd taken the day off to get ready for the trip, and I knew he'd still be asleep. We talked several times throughout the morning. Finally he called and said the trip was cancelled. We've yet to take that trip. The refunded money was spent instead as part of the downpayment to buy the land where we now live. The passport I'd purchased (which I just realized is now expired) was finally used two and a half years later when I traveled to Budapest to meet Jeff during his short pass from his deployment to Bosnia. Certainly not the trip we'd envisioned when we purchased the passports, but a vacation that was even more appreciated considering we hadn't seen each other in five months. As I think about it, it certainly represents how our lives were changed by that horrible day. Gone were the carefree, innocent vacation plans, replaced by the constant fear or dread of deployment. It's a fear that thankfully I've at last put to rest now that Jeff has retired from the National Guard, but it's a pain that is still all too real for so many of my Army wife friends, some of who are living through yet another deployment right now.

"Do you want to sit by a TV, or away from it?"

Jeff ended up needing some kind of work done on his car that day. I think it was a flat tire, but I don't remember for sure. I met him at the repair shop after work, and I recall sitting in the reception area glued to the tiny TV, watching the horror. Afterward, we went to Applebee's for dinner. The hostess greeted us not with "Would you like smoking or non?" but instead asking if we wanted to watch the news coverage or avoid it. (We chose to watch.)

You paid $1.79 a gallon?

Jeff predicted the attack would lead to a spike in gas prices, and so he waited in a long line to fill his car's gas tank, as well as every gas can we had. I don't recall what gas prices had been, but $1.79 seemed so high, especially considering they dropped to $1.15 in the coming days due to the lack of airlines needing fuel.

"Did you hear that?"

All airlines were grounded for several days, so it was particularly terrifying to wake up the next morning to the sound of an airplane overhead. I'm pretty sure it was connected to the Air Guard Base, but I'll never forget that moment of rolling over in bed and seeing an expression on Jeff's face that I'm sure matched my own.

*****

Because of Jeff's involvement in the police department's Honor Guard, I think I've attended Duluth's September 11 memorial just about every year. I missed it the year he was in Bosnia - my Uncle Bob's funeral fell on the same day. Attendance numbers have varied over the years, from embarrassingly small to refreshingly impressive. I've snuck out of work for ceremonies that took place during the week, and in other years juggled small children and tried to keep them from disturbing others who were there.

Ironically, today, when attendance will likely be higher, I will probably miss it. AJ has a soccer game at the same time as the ceremony. In a selfish way, I'm relieved. The memories hurt, and AJ's endless questions make it harder. I will never forget. I have shed many tears this morning thinking of the people who died and their families left to grieve. But life does go on. (As is evidenced by the number of times I've had to stop writing this morning to chase down the puppy and pry some toy from his mouth.)

I'm heartbroken for those who lost so much. I'm grateful for people like Jeff who continue to be willing to risk so much to keep us all safe. And I'm selfishly relieved that I can now turn off the TV, go about my day and try not to think about the incredible human loss.