We tend to recall traumatic moments in our lives. For me there are three that stand out and replay in my head each time we reach the anniversary date on which they happened. On those days I feel the anxiety and sorrow anew, as though the tragedy happened only moments before.
The first trauma for me was the sudden death of my father in a car accident. it happened on May 31, 1957 when I was only eight years old. To this very day I vividly recall every single minute of the horrific time with a clarity that runs in my mind like a video. I replay that moment as though it will somehow change. I imagine waking up on that day to find my parents getting ready for the Labor Day celebration that they had planned. Of course, it did not happen that way and I find myself wondering what it might have been like to have my father around for a longer time. I even have horrible thoughts that it is unfair that my father-in-law is still here at the age of ninety seven while my father left this earth at the age of eighty three. That’s when I know how impactful my childhood loss had been.
The second day that stands out to me every single year is November 22, 1963, when President John Kennedy was killed. I had turned fifteen years old only four days before this happened. On November 21, he had arrived in Houston, Texas by why of Hobby Airport which was only a few miles from my home. We had learned that he would travel from there to the Rice Hotel in downtown Houston. The route would take him down Broadway Street to Interstate 45 and my mother realized that his limousine would travel under the freeway to make the turn to head to the hotel so we sat on the curb waiting for his entourage to arrive.
When the police escort neared the area we stood so close to the street that we could have touched the vehicles passing by. Suddenly there was the president in a open car waving at us with a big smile. I still feel breathless when I think of how clearly we saw him so when I learned that he had died the next day I fell into the same kind of grief that I had felt at the moment of my own father’s death. I remember exactly which classroom I was in when the announcement was made. I know who was sitting near me and I recall the sorrow that filled the area as we sat in stunned silence sometimes putting our heads down to sob.
The other moment which was both traumatic and almost unbelievable is the attack on the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York City on September 11, 2001. I was the Magnet Coordinator of a school in Houston ISD and a meeting was planned at the administration building. On such days I went straight from home rather than driving to the school where I worked and then backtracking an hour or so later. Thus I was dallying a bit longer at home and watching the morning news as I readied myself for the day which happened to be gloriously beautiful.
As I was finishing my preparations I saw the first plane fly into one of the towers. I remember feeling quite confused and wondered how such a thing could have happened. Only minutes before everything was so calm and mundane. Suddenly I witnessed something happening that made no sense but I had to leave lest I be late for my meeting.
As I drove along in Houston’s early morning traffic I turned to an all news radio station to learn what became of that plane that had hit the tower. As I listened the announcer literally freaked out as he almost screamed that another plane had arrived and had hit the second tower. At that point I understood that this was not a random accident. I realized that we were under attack and I had to calm myself to be able to drive safely to my destination.
Upon arriving at the meeting place i found myself in a solemn situation. My fellow colleagues were silently watching a television that had been hurriedly brought into the room. The usual camaraderie and chit chat of such meetings was missing so I simply took the first available seat that I saw and sat as stunned as the rest of the people in the room. Not long after that most of the coordinators had arrived and together we watched the towers collapse.
Some people screamed while others cried. I sat quietly feeling as though I might faint as my chest became heavy with anxiety. I literally was unable to comprehend what I had just seen so when the director of the magnet program nervously began the meeting as though nothing strange had just happened I almost felt an out of body experience that made the whole moment feel absurd.
The poor woman trying to keep our attention babbled for a time and then stopped in the middle of a sentence, scanned the room and then declared, “What am I doing? All of you need to very carefully drive back to your schools and provide comfort to your coworkers and students.”
We filed out of the room like zombies who had been sent on a mission and somehow found our way back to each campus. In truth I don’t know how I got there because there is a gap of blankness between the time I entered my car until moment when I arrived at the school. There I found a state of utter chaos as frightened parents came to take their children home.
My principal asked me to sit with one of our teachers who was a Texas transplant from New York City. He was in a terrible state of mind because his parent both worked in one of the World Trade Center buildings. He had been desperately attempting to reach them by phone with no luck and so he sat somberly in the school conference room staring into space.
I moved a chair near to him, hugged him and sat next to him without uttering a work. Somehow I knew that he needed to just remain silent so that is what we did for hours only breaking the quiet when he made new attempts to reach his parents. Finally late in the afternoon his call was successful. He did not give away what he was hearing. He simply listened, nodded his head and remained stoically blank. Then he quietly said good by, set down the phone and collapsed onto the floor sobbing so hard that I feared that he had learned that both of his parents were missing in the rubble of those buildings.
I knelt down on the floor next to him and attempted to comfort him simply by touching his back now and then. After what seemed a lifetime he recovered, sat down oi his chair once again and apologized for his emotional outbreak. Then he told me that his parents were safe, In fact for the first time in their lives they had both decided to call in sick and take a mental day day just to go to a park and enjoy the beautiful weather.
I was so relieved that I let my own emotions rise to the surface and cried for the first time that day while he and I held hands in a kind of understanding of the enormity of what had just happened. I later drove home still feeling a great weight as I began to understand how horrific this terrorist attack had been and how many precious lives had been lost.
I would go visit ground zero many times. I would pause on September 11 to remember that for day twenty five years. It became a kind of spiritual reckoning in which my bottled up grief would return.
Today we remember once again and vow to never forget those who died and those who worked so hard to help others survive. Both the horror and the courage of that day are burned into my soul. I honor the entire city of New York for the courage and compassion that the brought together for their fellow citizens and I promise to keep the torch of kindness burning as long as I live.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 