What Did You Do and What Do You Want to Do?

 

Today I have seen several posts on social media asking “Where were you?”  Where were you on September 11, 2001?  At a local 9/11 memorial - merely 2 miles or so from our home -  there is the invitation to stop, remember, and reflect.  A few days leading up to today, as well as today, I have been doing so. 

I was working in the office of the church we were attending then.  I had freshly stepped out of my degree field of music therapy, having worked in nursing homes for five years,  and being emotionally distraught at the abuse and neglect I saw the last couple of years in particular.  I was taking refuge in the church, I thought, as I figured out my next steps.  I would go on to flounder for a while, then find my way to a new passion of massage therapy.  I may have been taking refuge, yet this day I was called into service.

The morning of September 11, 2001 I was taking my turn leading the Morning Prayer at the church office.  The church secretary knocked at the door and stated that my husband had called and was requesting special prayers for our nation.  The first World Trade Center tower had been hit, and people were uncertain about it.  The second World Trade Center was hit, and people were pretty certain, then, that it was intentional.  I remember my heart rate quickening with adrenaline and my hands and voice shook as I finished the remaining prayers.  Then I went throughout the parish hall searching for a television to turn on. 

My heart was in my throat as I went through a series of emotions – shock, terror, fear, sorrow and anger.  More shock would lead me through the same series as more reports came in, as I stayed close to the tv, about the Pentagon being hit and the crashing of another plane in Pennsylvania. 

I remember calling my parents in Florida from the church office.  My mom answered the phone with a cheerful greeting, “Hi Sug.  How are you?”  I asked her if she had the tv on and had heard the news.  There was a pause, and she simply said, “Oh…”  I asked her to hang up, go get Dad, and turn on the tv.  I would call her again that evening. 

The thing that stands out to me about the day at the church office, however, is that our rector chose not to be there.  He had been in a deanery meeting that morning, then after the news of the events that were happening got to them there, it was decided that they would adjourn so that they could go back to their parishes to be there for their congregations.  We got a call from our rector stating that he would be going home and would not be returning to the church that day.  I decided that moment to remain there – perhaps longer than I needed to, longer than anyone else that day. 

When I was the last one there at the church office, later that afternoon, the call that I instinctively thought might come did, even though I didn’t know who it might be who would need to call.  It was the church’s financial warden calling for the rector.  He sounded scared, devastated, and needed someone to listen to his plight.  He had been in attendance at a meeting that morning in New York City.  The meeting was high up in a skyscraper building with many windows and in full view of the World Trade Center.   He had seen both of the towers get hit.  He had witnessed people jumping to their deaths, choosing that over staying in the burning tower buildings.  His voice quivered as he told me this.  I asked him if he was in a safe place.  He stated that he was, however, he would not make it out of the city and back home, since the tunnels were closed that evening.  I asked him if he had spoken with his family.  He said he had, else I would have called them.  After a few minutes of talking with me, he was calmer.  I asked him if there was anything else that I could do.  He said, “Pray.”  I said that I would continue to do so. 

The days that followed 9/11/01, I remember were amazing.  There was more patience and kindness and patriotism (meaning a sense of pride in being a citizen of the United States).  There were more flags flying.  There were more hugs.  There was a lot of telling of stories of that fateful day, and those who simply listened.  I miss that the most. 

So what I want to do about this 20^th year after September 11, 2001 is more of that.  I want to honor this sacred day with patience and kindness and patriotism.  I want to remain open to listening to people’s stories and telling my own.  Good comes out of evil.  It’s a matter of being aware of and present to it.