September 11: Still We Mourn

The northeast face of Two World Trade Center (south tower) after being struck by plane in the south face. Via Wikipedia

 It still hurts. I guess this date will hurt until the day I die. It feels even more personal after having visited the Flight 93 Memorial a few years ago.

These say what still is in my heart:

• Captain Daniel O'Callaghan: Have Mercy on Me Now and at the Hour of My Death. Amen.
  
  
• 9/11, Our Choices and Making a Stand
  
  
• John Paul II's general audience, the day after September 11, 2001, addressed to the American people.
  
  
• September 11: Our Memories and Our Determination
  
  
• Remembering the tragic, sudden, and violent loss of 2,996 innocent Americans
  
  
• The Only Plane in the Sky: An Oral History of 9/11 - an excellent book. By presenting people's experiences in chronological order, with no other commentary other than that needed to place a context for orientation, this is that unusual creation - an unbiased history.

Piece of Flight 93 fuselage found at crash site
Via Wikipedia

9/11, Our Choices and Making a Stand

I originally wrote this for my Free Mind column at Patheos. It is still posted there.

Two days after 9/11, my father-in-law had a massive stroke. My husband and I drove from Dallas to the hospital in Houston. Largely in shock between the double burden of terrorist attacks and personal tragedy, we were nevertheless stirred with pride at the many flags and hand-made signs we saw along the road. Tears sprang to my eyes when we passed a battered pick-up truck complete with obligatory shotgun rack and "We are all New Yorkers today" written on the rear window.

My husband said, "Those terrorists don't know what they have done. This guy would've spit on a New Yorker last week. And now he'd fight for them."

We were lucky. We didn't know anyone, then, who had died or been in the attacks. But we still suffered with the rest of the nation. It changed us as a people and as individuals.

It taught me a big lesson in forgiveness; as I expressed my forceful wish to see the people behind this attack "killed," a gentle friend from our parish looked at me with a troubled face. "I don't know," she said slowly. "But that doesn't seem right either."

I was taken aback and began to pray, even as I expressed anger. Gradually, the anger faded and the ability to forgive crept in.

Today, I mourn the 9/11 attacks as much as ever. Easy tears still spring to my eyes when I look over the old pictures, video footage, and exchange "what I was doing when I heard" stories with others.

I also think about the opportunity that we had to go forward as a people united—to bring something good out of the evil. We are more divided than ever, and ruder than ever. We squabble and complain about the red states, the blue states, the liberals, the conservatives, the Muslims, the Catholics, and on and on it goes.

Some of this is basic human nature, as old as the stories in Genesis, of brother striking brother. It seems to me, though, that some of it is Evil pushing its way into the world, and we are failing to push back for the common good. We listen to the siren call of "my way," which goes hand in hand with pride.

As always, when it comes to thinking things through, I find that others have pondered the matter so much more thoroughly than I could. Recently I picked up one of my favorite "good versus evil" books and found the words defining my thoughts.

It is said that the two great human sins are pride and hate. Are they? I elect to think of them as the two great virtues. To give away pride and hate is to say you will change for the good of the world. To vent them is more noble; that is to say the world must change for the good of you. I am on a great adventure.

Harold Emery Lauder, in Stephen King's The Stand

Twenty-three years before 9/11, Stephen King published one of his best-known and best-loved books, The Stand. It tells a tale of the United States, laid to waste when a biological weapons-grade virus inadvertently gets loose. As survivors roam the post-apocalyptic ruins, they begin to have dreams about an incredibly old holy woman, named Mother Abigail, or of a supernatural entity—Randall Flagg—who is her opponent.

Following their dreams, two communities begin to form—Mother Abigail's in Boulder and Flagg's in Las Vegas—and the stage is set for a final "stand" between Evil and God.

King has expressed frustration that so many fans call The Stand their favorite work, even though he has written scores of books since its publication.

Well, it's a heck of a book for one thing, so it's no wonder people love it. And although this is a horror novel, it is very translatable to our own lives. We no longer worry about bio-terrorism the way we did back then, but we can still relate to the scenario King paints.

In The Stand, King holds up the mirror to us. God and evil are present, of course, but they work through men, as ever, and we recognize ourselves in the pages.

Harold Emery Lauder was the quintessential misunderstood nerd, picked on in school, crossed in love, and finding power in hatred. His note could have been written by any of the terrorists who flew those planes into the World Trade Center. I imagine that, like Harold, their betrayal of innocents was the culmination of a long trail of choosing their own desires first. King shows us enough of Harold's choices—sometimes made despite the screaming of his own instincts—so that we can see a little of him in every selfish choice we make.

Harold's end is not a good one, and it is made pitiful by the fact that he is tossed aside like a worn out doll when evil is done using him for its own purposes. We cannot hold onto our anger at him because he has been misled so completely. In a similar way, when I think of those terrorists and their deliberate evil, I have a bit of that pity for them as well.

Once they were somebody's babies. I don't know what led them astray, but I lament the loss of the people they could have been.

King directly juxtaposes a rock star, Larry Underwood, against Harold.

"You ain't no nice guy!" she cried at him as he went into the living room. "I only went with you because I thought you were a nice guy" . . . A memory circuit clicked open and he heard Wayne Stuckey saying, "There's something in you that's like biting on tinfoil."

The Stand

After the plague, Larry is haunted by those words, "you ain't no nice guy"—they jump to mind whenever he contemplates a selfish or cowardly act. Ultimately, he actually becomes a "nice guy" by consistently choosing the nobler act, if only to prove those words wrong.

Larry is no different than you or me, or anyone who can see themselves with a modicum of self awareness. None of us are "nice guys" deep down because we are all stained with Original Sin. And we know it.

We have help, though, that Stephen King didn't give Larry Underwood. We have the grace of Christ, the sacrament of reconciliation, and our faith to strengthen us. Like Larry, though, we have to keep picking ourselves up and trying again. We must practice until we are more perfectly "nice guys."

9/11 has presented us with a chance to practice forgiveness over and over again. We're all in this together and lifting our thoughts (or hands) in hatred belittles us and our targets. We are Christ’s followers, charged to see Him in everyone they meet. We all have the same choice. Do we embrace Harold's way, or Larry's?

There's always a choice. That's God's way, always will be. Your will is still free. Do as you will. There's no set of leg-irons on you. But . . . this is what God wants of you.

Mother Abigail, The Stand

Have Mercy on Me Now and at the Hour of My Death. Amen.

I was "assigned" Captain Daniel O'Callaghan when Project 2,996 began. What an honor it has been every year to be allowed to bring this tribute of a fine American hero to everyone.

Captain Daniel O'Callaghan, 42, Smithtown, N.Y.

It has been a real privilege to read through the tributes of those who knew Daniel O'Callaghan and to learn about his life. Gradually this man I never heard of before has taken on real personality to me. Part of a large Irish clan, he was full of energy, loved children, loved joking around, and loved his family and job. In short, he loved life and made it better for everyone who was lucky enough to meet him.

When I was growing up, even though we didn't see the O'Callaghan's very much, it was always something to look forward to. We always had fun, laughter, jokes, & stories to tell. It didn't matter how long it had been since you'd seen each other, everyone was part of a big happy, loving family that hung together. Friends or family, it didn't matter; you were one of the family. It was wonderful.

I, myself, love the heart of someone who relished his job so ... and you've gotta love the image of those glow-in-the-dark boxers.

Though he came from a family chock-full of police officers - including six active officers and eight retired from forces in New York City and on Long Island - O'Callaghan, 42, switched to the fire department 18 years ago, after three years as a cop.

He was "born to be a fireman," said his friend and fellow firefighter, Paul Pfeifer.

His brother firefighters marveled at the constant energy displayed by "Danny O.," as he was known. "He was a ball of fire," said Pfeifer. In the engine house, he recalled, O'Callaghan "would have his pants and boots on already, like he was waiting for the next fire." And, Pfeifer said, at a fire scene, "You would turn around to see where he was, and he was already ahead of you."

O'Callaghan was also the one to provide comic relief when it was most needed. Pfeifer chuckled as he recounted one instance involving O'Callaghan and his glow-in- the-dark boxer shorts.

"We'd had a fire early in the evening that really beat the hell out of us," Pfeifer said. Most of the men were resting in the darkened bunk room, but not O'Callaghan, who never slept on the job.

"All of a sudden, he ran into the bunk room, and all you could see was the boxer shorts, jumping from bed to bed, and all you could hear was him laughing, and then he went out the door," Pfeifer said. "Everyone sat there, and was like, 'What was that?' I just said, 'That was Danny O.'"

That energy was one of Daniel O'Callaghan's main characteristics. It was mentioned time and again by all who knew him.

"Outstanding" This was always Danny's response...When I look back on it now though I realize it was his energy. It was his energy towards the two things he loved the most. His first would be his love for his beautiful family of Rhonda, Rhiannon and Connor. The other would be his other family. Being part of the NYFD. We should all be so lucky to have a loving family they we leave at home to join another that we work with.

It was his energy that could always be counted on when asked to assist in a family project or loan a hand in a task at ones home. Energy when telling a story or joke and always lighting up the place with his presence. His laugh was always robust and full of life...

Excerpts from John Caspar's tribute which was read at the memorial service

I was especially impressed by the fact that although his shift was over, he turned back to help in the emerging disaster that was September 11, 2001. That is just the kind of guy that he was. Born to be a firefighter, from a family with a history of public service.

The motto of the station, which is located in the Broadway area, is inscribed on the fire engine and fittingly reads: "The Pride of Manhattan. Never missed a performance."

It is a motto that probably befits Daniel O'Callaghan, who was not supposed to even be on duty that Tuesday. As the station was called out to the attack site, Daniel O'Callaghan was busy shaving in the station's bathroom before attending class to become a captain.

Maureen O'Callaghan was told her brother's shaving cream and clothes were found inside the station's bathroom, as he must have hurried to New York's aid with only half his face shaved, she said.

Anybody who lived life to the full the way that Daniel O'Callaghan did would also live his faith just as large.

"Much later, Anderson said, 'officials were able to identify Danny's remains in part by the Knights of Columbus rosary they found still firmly clenched in his hand.'"

I thought that I read somewhere that he was always fingering the rosary which he kept in his pocket, but couldn't find that reference again when I was looking around. Regardless, he had it when it counted most.

I think of him and feel that he had to be saying the rosary or at least thinking it in those final moments with the beads firmly in hand. I remember a friend told me that she read somewhere about someone who is devoted to Mary. That when they who stand before God for judgment they will see Mary come forward and tell Jesus, "This is one of mine" as she puts her arm around that person. Surely, from what I have read of Captain Daniel O'Callaghan's life he had no need of Mary coming forward but just as surely I feel that she was there with Jesus to greet him as he entered heaven.

I feel that I got to know Captain O'Callaghan just a bit as I searched for pieces of his life to show others. In fact, I have gotten into the habit of turning to him for intercession when in prayer. I look forward to meeting this loving, energetic, Irish firefighter if I make it to heaven myself. In fact, I'm asking him to help me get there.

My heart goes out to his family, especially his wife and young children. If I feel this way after simply reading about him then surely they must miss him sorely. My prayers are with them.


Sources:

• Legacy.com Guest Book
• Knightline - September 27, 2003
• September 11, 2001, Victims
• Knights of Columbus newsletter
• Newsday
• Vero Beach Press Journal

Daniel O'Callaghan was just one of the 2,996 victims of the September 11, 2001, attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon, as well as the attempted hijacking of Flight 93. They are all mourned and missed. We will never forget.

2,996 is a tribute to the victims of 9/11.

2,996 volunteer bloggers
are joined together in a tribute to the victims of 9/11.
Each person is paying tribute to a single victim.

We honor them by remembering their lives,
and not by remembering their murderers.

Project 2,996 is here.

Remembering the tragic, sudden, and violent loss of 2,996 innocent Americans

I guess it is a measure of how time softens blows that it was only as an afterthought I realized today would be September 11. That memory makes me reel a bit when I think of how powerful it was to visit the Flight 93 Memorial this summer.

I still have no better tributes than those I have from past years so I present this one here today.

I turn on the TV and watch as the plane slowly flies into the Tower.
Hail Mary, full of grace
My daughter wanders downstairs, shoes in hand,
Turns to look at what has me transfixed on a weekday morning.
The Lord is with thee.
"Where is that, Mommy?" she asks.
Blessed are you among women
"New York," I answer. She nods. The name is familiar,
Like Venus,
Like Mars
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
"Do we know anyone there?" Her eyes are blue and full of innocent concern.
Jesus.
"No," I answer, thinking of friends, family, business associates, safe here.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
She has seen the green glass tower where I work,
Tucked amongst taller builders.
Pray for us sinners
But a skyscraper in one city looks much like one in the next.
Now
"Where's the tallest building in the United States?"
And at the hour of our death.
"Chicago."
Amen.
My daughter looks relieved.

Written by March Hare, copied to my quote journal

I remember that day and how horrible it was.

I also remember the many accounts and how moved I was by the heroism showed by so many. Looking back through my accumulated links, it moves me still.

One of those heroes was Captain Daniel O'Callaghan, 42, Smithtown, N.Y., whose tribute I wrote for Project 2996. I am reposting Captain O'Callaghan's tribute today.

Other good links from previous tributes:

• Heather Ordover from CraftLit has one of the most moving memories of being in 9/11. She links to it in this 10 Years' Later piece where she ponders forgiveness.  You'll find it at Patheos.com too.
• Deacon Greg's Homily for Sunday, 9/11
• Four Ways to Brooklyn
• Simply Evil by Christopher Hitchins
• New York from French Sampler
• 9/11 Dwarfed the Films About It by Roger Ebert
• Twin Tower Cameos
• Never Forget
• The Worst Day
• On Being Half a World Away
• Remembering
• Whispers in the Loggia
• How Long Do Some Remember Historical Dates?
  
• Patheos' 9/11 stories

Homilies and 9/11

The readings for Sunday were rich in discussion of mercy and forgiveness. They looked as if they'd been planned to accompany the 10th anniversary of 9/11. Some homilists took advantage of that and others didn't. I've seen a good bit of commentary from people around the internet about this.

Our pastor didn't mention 9/11. I can easily imagine that he was avoiding getting sidetracked onto patriotism when we should be putting focus on worshiping God. I can respect that. It was a fantastic homily about mercy, forgiveness, and applying it to our own hearts.

I did my own thinking about 9/11 anyway and he may have been counting on parishioners to do that. Hannah went to the 5 p.m. mass and said that priest also didn't mention it.

It did leave me a bit sad, though, that it was the only public group I was in that day and other than a mention in the prayers of the faithful and the bulletin art, there was no acknowledgment of our feelings. The more I thought about it and engaged in an email conversation with a fellow parishioner who asked for my thoughts, I wondered that my sadness came back.

It came to me this morning that the need to acknowledge and discuss 9/11 is not about patriotism. It is about our national identity as a people. It is a blow that was struck to each one of us and which still leaves us reeling when we think of it.

The nearest I can come is in thinking of the Hebrew people exiled in Babylon.

By the rivers of Babylon,
There we sat down and wept,
When we remembered Zion.

Psalm 137

The Babylonian exile marked the Hebrew people forever. We see it in the psalms and the prophetic books. I'm not sure the U.S. has a long enough memory to be marked forever. But this close to the attacks on our innocents, we're marked, scarred, and still traumatized.

To acknowledge that is simply to state truth. To apply mercy and forgiveness as a homily topic to that event is to help us heal. If the homily is the practical application of the Gospel to our lives, this is one of the biggest things that many of us needed help with yesterday.

We're not New Yorkers but that day ... as we saw on the window of a pickup truck ... we were all New Yorkers on that day. It marks us all.

I suppose that is why I still feel sad today when I think about the missed opportunity of the homily. In a funny way I guess I was waiting to grieve with others. And didn't get the chance.

In that spirit, here is the homily I wish I'd heard (albeit utterly different in tone than our pastor would have delivered had he talked about 9/11... and that's ok too). Thank you, Deacon Greg. I needed that.

Project 2,996

Next Saturday will be September 11.

Project 2,996 is a tribute to the victims of 9/11.

On September 11, 2006, more than 3,000 bloggers joined together to remember the victims of 9/11 Each year we have honored them by remembering their lives, and not by remembering their murderers. This year the goal is to make sure that each victim has a tribute.

Through the first four years of Project 2996, every victim has been assigned, and each name has received at least one online tribute. However, with the malleable nature of the internet, many of those tributes have disappeared.

The list below is fluid. As I make my way through checking all the links from all the past years, more names will be added. And while people write new tributes and post them online names will be removed from this list.

The primary way to participate, and the best way to help, is to pick one of the names below. Then do some online research, and post a tribute to your own blog or website. In this way you will learn a little bit about one of the victims of 9/11, and you will help keep their memories alive.

If you want to participate, go here, pick out a name and help keep their memory alive.

I will be reposting Captain Daniel O'Callaghan's tribute on Saturday, but, of course, please feel free to check it out any time.

Remembering the tragic, sudden, and violent loss of 2,996 innocent Americans

I turn on the TV and watch as the plane slowly flies into the Tower.
Hail Mary, full of grace
My daughter wanders downstairs, shoes in hand,
Turns to look at what has me transfixed on a weekday morning.
The Lord is with thee.
"Where is that, Mommy?" she asks.
Blessed are you among women
"New York," I answer. She nods. The name is familiar,
Like Venus,
Like Mars
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
"Do we know anyone there?" Her eyes are blue and full of innocent concern.
Jesus.
"No," I answer, thinking of friends, family, business associates, safe here.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
She has seen the green glass tower where I work,
Tucked amongst taller builders.
Pray for us sinners
But a skyscraper in one city looks much like one in the next.
Now
"Where's the tallest building in the United States?"
And at the hour of our death.
"Chicago."
Amen.
My daughter looks relieved.

Written by March Hare, copied to my quote journal

Looking over my previous posts about September 11, which seem to grow like mushrooms as I add links, I see that last year I said:

I see that the year before last, I got an email last week mentioning that a deadline was September 11. Maybe it's silly but seeing that date attached to a deadline shocked me. No reason not to have it be a deadline but it seemed ... somehow ... irreverent to have the usual business of the day on that date.

Today I realized there was something more shocking. In the press of my unusually busy life lately, I completely forgot September 11 myself. I don't think that I had reason to look at a calendar beyond any particular day but in the past I would have seen the 8th, the 9th, the 10th as they came and have been bracing myself mentally for that fateful 11th memorial date. Not this year. I was completely startled when the front page of the newspaper reminded me of the larger meaning behind this date.

It is that which made me linger especially over last year's post, remembering it all.

I would say that if there is one thing I would recommend from that post it is reading Heather Ordover's memory of surviving that holocaust. I know her as personally as one can via frequent emails and listening to her wonderful podcast, CraftLit. She does not dwell on those memories but they are never far away as she struggles regularly with respiratory problems that resulted from breathing ashes during her ordeal.

Obviously my forgetfulness means I was not part of this year's Project 2,996 but many were not so forgetful (and I have signed up for reminders to be sent).

Heather has a lovely memorial for a victim

The Anchoress has a thoughtful meditation about eight years afterward.

Deacon Greg has a prayer from Archbishop Foley.

First Things features a remembrance from a young man whose first day at work in downtown Manhattan was on that fateful day.

Maureen has a prayer for the dead.

March Hare (author of the piece at the beginning of this post) has a memorial for one of the victims.

Whispers in the Loggia has Pope Benedict's prayer from Ground Zero.

Catholic Mom gives us the military wife perspective and also looks at private memory versus history lesson.

Update
Links added above as I come across them.

Also, I was searching in vain for my post when I did participate in Project 2,996. I remembered so many details about that fireman but none of them yielded his name (or the post) to my search. I cannot thank his cousin enough for speaking up with his name in the comments here. I now can honor again Captain Daniel O'Callaghan. I have tagged his post so he will not be "lost" in my archives again.

September 11: Our Memories and Our Determination

Much of this is reposted and somewhat updated from previous years because I think this stands as the tribute I want to make. I will update it as I come across other tributes.

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• A movie for today: World Trade Center
• A book for today: The Onion Files

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I see that the year before last, I got an email last week mentioning that a deadline was September 11. Maybe it's silly but seeing that date attached to a deadline shocked me. No reason not to have it be a deadline but it seemed ... somehow ... irreverent to have the usual business of the day on that date.

Last year a similar thing happened, except that since I remember September 11 was a Tuesday and happened around 9:00 in the morning, I was stunned momentarily when making a vet appointment for our dog. I commented on the fact that it would be September 11 and the young receptionist had an indifferent silence and then merely encouraged me to continue making the appointment, which stung even more than the memory.

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To me, it is sad that the best tribute I saw in the newspaper both last year and this year was a paid Open Letter by a local car dealer (website no longer available). It is too long for me to include in its entirety.

... But I also recall that for a few short weeks, America came together. Republicans, Democrats and all the other parties were united in the message GOD BLESS AMERICA. I saw more American flags flying than I had ever seen in my life. People who had not owned a flag in years flocked to stores to put one in front of their home, their businesses and in the back of their pickups. for those few short weeks, we put aside our personal problems and focused on helping those killed in this brutal attack.

Now six years later, I wonder where all those flags are? My guess is that most are in their closets gathering dust along with those feelings we felt on that fateful day. ...

Find time today to reflect on the day we were attacked. At 9:03 AM today, the time of the last plane crash in Pennsylvania, all my employees will gather in front of my dealerships for a moment of silence to honor those who innocently died that day. I hope you'll find the time to do the same or feel free to join our family ...

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That time is always mixed for me with images of hospitals and personal emotions in another way because Tom's father had a massive stroke two days after September 11. We left the girls with friends and drove to Houston for what proved to be a harrowing time. No matter what else was happening, the television in the hospital was on, whether with the sound on or not.

Here is a sample of what others were living through as we watched in horror.

In my dress and non-sensible shoes I climbed (my grandmothers will forgive me) in the least dignified fashion, over the barrier. I crouched next to a man with a green striped oxford cloth shirt. I helped him cut it with my Swiss Army Knife scissors so he could put a piece over his nose and mouth. We shared water. He tried to use my cell phone to call his wife or girlfriend. It didn't work. Everyone started praying. Jesus' rang out all around me. I didn't care. My prayer was to see Andrew and Aaron again. This moment was the only time I thought I was going to die.

I kept thinking about the crying woman with the screaming baby. I kept hearing babies crying--no adults...how do you protect a 6-month old from all of this damn ASH?

It was hard to breathe. I couldn't always see the water, so close by, maybe eight...ten feet down? It was so dark. I thought, very carefully and precisely:

• I could jump in the water if the fire comes.
• I could get some debris and hold on and float to Brooklyn...I think that's where the current goes from here.
• There is no debris to use. I haven't seen anything larger than my fingernail fall to the water.
• I could jump in the water and swim.
• I don't know how cold the water is. How long could I last? How fast is the current? How much deeper would my breaths be in cold water? Is it better to stay on the land?
• How do I get back to Brooklyn? My husband and baby are there.
• They're going to bomb the Brooklyn Bridge next aren't they?...and then the Statue of Liberty...and maybe The Empire State Building and Central Park...if they're trying to break us, they'll go there. They'll hit the places we love.

We heard the fog horns of the ferryboats. The man to my right panicked and thought the ferry was going to hit us. Everyone got up fast and then realized we were better off under the edge again. We shared our water bottles and started climbing back down. Silence closed in around us and I could hear tiny pieces of debris and ash plink into the water.

At some point I looked up and to my left and could see the white disk of the sun above me. I tapped the Muslim man next to me and pointed up. Our eyes smiled at each other over our handkerchiefs. Briefly there was blue in front of me then it was gone again.

excerpt from Heather Ordover's firsthand account
(she was a teacher at a school next to the towers)

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For some reason, the image that sticks with me from driving down there and back, aside from all the American flags, was the beat up pickup truck with the gun rack and Confederate flag stickers that had "We are all New Yorkers today" written on their windows. For a Texan to write that ... well, at that moment we realized that the terrorists had no idea what they had done.

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NPR's StoryCorps recorded many remembrances of those who lost loved ones in the September 11 attacks. Go to the link and select the September 11 category to listen to them.

“He was tough on the outside—big, big, soft guy on the inside.”

“When I met Michael I was 14 years old.”

“When he was five, we went into a candy store…”

“When I used to hug him, the whole world disappeared…”

“Her eyes sparkled to me. One day they were blue; the next day they were green.”

“He was a high adventurer.”

“His sister idolized him.”

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The Anchoress remembered last year ...

I haven’t forgotten. I have too many firefighter friends to ever forget. I haven’t forgotten watching the tape of the first Tower burning and saying to my pal, over the phone, “it’s a beautiful clear day; no plane is going to accidentally hit the WTC - this is NOT an accident,” and both of us gasping because, just as I said it, the second plane hit. I haven’t forgotten because my husband was on a plane that morning, traveling on business, and for a little while we didn’t know what flights we were looking at, exploding before our eyes. Those of us who had loved ones in planes heard about the Pentagon, and about a plane going down in Pennsylvania - there were reports (false) that a car bomb was discovered outside of the Supreme Court. My friend called me back, pleading and in shock - “what is happening, what is happening in our country!” Finally the phone call from my husband, trapped in Atlanta, and I was able to call my kids schools and tell the offices, “please, please tell my kids that their father wasn’t on any of those planes, that he is alright!”

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... and she remembers this year too.

As I do every 9/11, I began this morning praying the Office of the Dead, from the Liturgy of the Hours. The psalms this year seemed to speak poignantly of the torment of the victims, and of those who waited, and waited, and who now wait to be re-united in glory. This year, I have made a podcast of the prayer for anyone who wishes to use it....

She has some links to other bloggers and you should go read all of what they wrote, just as I did. With the seeming vacuum in our newspaper and regular "business as usual" going on, it is nice to know that under it all plenty of people remember.

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Who can read this article (link no longer active) by Peggy Noonan in painting with words and not be swept back in time?

Flight 93 flight attendant Ceecee Lyles, 33 years old, in an answering-machine message to her husband: "Please tell my children that I love them very much. I'm sorry, baby. I wish I could see your face again."

Thirty-one-year-old Melissa Harrington, a California-based trade consultant at a meeting in the towers, called her father to say she loved him. Minutes later she left a message on the answering machine as her new husband slept in their San Francisco home. "Sean, it's me, she said. "I just wanted to let you know I love you."

Capt. Walter Hynes of the New York Fire Department's Ladder 13 dialed home that morning as his rig left the firehouse at 85th Street and Lexington Avenue. He was on his way downtown, he said in his message, and things were bad. "I don't know if we'll make it out. I want to tell you that I love you and I love the kids."

Who among us does not stop, whether a tribute is seen or not, and remember where we were, what we were doing, at that heart-stopping moment when everything changed?

I turn on the TV and watch as the plane slowly flies into the Tower.
Hail Mary, full of grace
My daughter wanders downstairs, shoes in hand,
Turns to look at what has me transfixed on a weekday morning.
The Lord is with thee.

Read it all here

+++++++++++++++++

A time when even the most public figures struggled with what it meant to be "normal" and "go back to work. When we remembered what united us more than what divided us? When we felt our humanity.

I plucked these photos from those found at The Doctor is In.

I am very glad that Project 2,996 happened and that I saw so many heartfelt tributes done for so many different kinds of people. It reminds me that the number of people who died is not just a number. Each was a soul, valuable in the eyes of God and to the people all around them. Valuable to us.

"All of you saw today what happened in New York. Consider how many firefighters died today. You will never be able to claim that you don't know what this job is about. Every single day you go out there you don't know what's going to happen or if you'll make it home. Those who responded today planned to go home after their shift...and instead, we're going to be watching funerals of firefighters for weeks. You know what this job is about and you know the risk. So after witnessing something like this, if some of you, or all of you, choose not to come back tomorrow, we will all understand."

Adoro te Devote

+++++++++++++++++

I continue to be struck by the hard, ongoing work done by others to keep us safe, of the many months of patient work that go in to discover conspiracies still underway.

The 4th of July isn't the day the 13 Colonies won their independence from Britain; it's the day they declared their independence. On the 4th we celebrate their eventual victory, but more than that we celebrate the resolve, vision, and determination which led to that victory.

Today, September 11th, we remember those thousands of innocent American civilians who died in the brutal attack on the Twin Towers. But 9/11 is more that. It is the day we resolved, as a nation, not to knuckle under to the terrorist threat -- and more than that, to stomp it out.

We must not turn 9/11 into a simple day of remembrance. We have not earned that blessing.

We must not lose our determination.

The View From the Foothills

+++++++++++++++++

We remember not only to honor the victims. We remember also to fuel our determination which can sink low after a seemingly long "safe" time. We need also to remember that time when the things that divided us seemed so much less important than the things that unite us. When we were one people, when hurting any of us hurt each one of us.

We must never forget.

September 11: Our Memories and Our Determination

Much of this is reposted and somewhat updated from last year because I think this stands as the tribute I want to make. I will update it as I come across other tributes.

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I see that last year, I got an email last week mentioning that a deadline was September 11. Maybe it's silly but seeing that date attached to a deadline shocked me. No reason not to have it be a deadline but it seemed ... somehow ... irreverent to have the usual business of the day on that date.

This year a similar thing happened, except that since I remember September 11 was a Tuesday and happened around 9:00 in the morning, I was stunned momentarily when making a vet appointment for our dog. I commented on the fact that it would be September 11 and the young receptionist had an indifferent silence and then merely encouraged me to continue making the appointment, which stung even more than the memory.

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To me, it is sad that the best tribute I saw in the newspaper was a paid Open Letter by a local car dealer. It is too long for me to include in its entirety and I hope that they will post the ad for people to read at their website. If you have The Dallas Morning News, it is on page 3 of the Metro section.

... But I also recall that for a few short weeks, America came together. Republicans, Democrats and all the other parties were united in the message GOD BLESS AMERICA. I saw more American flags flying than I had ever seen in my life. People who had not owned a flag in years flocked to stores to put one in front of their home, their businesses and in the back of their pickups. for those few short weeks, we put aside our personal problems and focused on helping those killed in this brutal attack.

Now six years later, I wonder where all those flags are? My guess is that most are in their closets gathering dust along with those feelings we felt on that fateful day. ...

Find time today to reflect on the day we were attacked. At 9:03 AM today, the time of the last plane crash in Pennsylvania, all my employees will gather in front of my dealerships for a moment of silence to honor those who innocently died that day. I hope you'll find the time to do the same or feel free to join our family ...

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If you do nothing else this year, take a few minutes and watch this tribute. Remember what it meant ... what it means still.


Who can watch this, perhaps the best of the tributes and not remember vividly all that we felt? I watch it and I still cry. By the way the web site and their cd are now archived at The Smithsonian Institute.

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That time is always mixed for me with images of hospitals and personal emotions in another way because Tom's father had a massive stroke two days after September 11. We left the girls with friends and drove to Houston for what proved to be a harrowing time. No matter what else was happening, the television in the hospital was on, whether with the sound on or not.

Here is a sample of what others were living through as we watched in horror.

In my dress and non-sensible shoes I climbed (my grandmothers will forgive me) in the least dignified fashion, over the barrier. I crouched next to a man with a green striped oxford cloth shirt. I helped him cut it with my Swiss Army Knife scissors so he could put a piece over his nose and mouth. We shared water. He tried to use my cell phone to call his wife or girlfriend. It didn't work. Everyone started praying. Jesus' rang out all around me. I didn't care. My prayer was to see Andrew and Aaron again. This moment was the only time I thought I was going to die.

I kept thinking about the crying woman with the screaming baby. I kept hearing babies crying--no adults...how do you protect a 6-month old from all of this damn ASH?

It was hard to breathe. I couldn't always see the water, so close by, maybe eight...ten feet down? It was so dark. I thought, very carefully and precisely:

• I could jump in the water if the fire comes.
• I could get some debris and hold on and float to Brooklyn...I think that's where the current goes from here.
• There is no debris to use. I haven't seen anything larger than my fingernail fall to the water.
• I could jump in the water and swim.
• I don't know how cold the water is. How long could I last? How fast is the current? How much deeper would my breaths be in cold water? Is it better to stay on the land?
• How do I get back to Brooklyn? My husband and baby are there.
• They're going to bomb the Brooklyn Bridge next aren't they?...and then the Statue of Liberty...and maybe The Empire State Building and Central Park...if they're trying to break us, they'll go there. They'll hit the places we love.

We heard the fog horns of the ferryboats. The man to my right panicked and thought the ferry was going to hit us. Everyone got up fast and then realized we were better off under the edge again. We shared our water bottles and started climbing back down. Silence closed in around us and I could hear tiny pieces of debris and ash plink into the water.

At some point I looked up and to my left and could see the white disk of the sun above me. I tapped the Muslim man next to me and pointed up. Our eyes smiled at each other over our handkerchiefs. Briefly there was blue in front of me then it was gone again.

excerpt from Heather Ordover's firsthand account
(she was a teacher at a school next to the towers)

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For some reason, the image that sticks with me from driving down there and back, aside from all the American flags, was the beat up pickup truck with the gun rack and Confederate flag stickers that had "We are all New Yorkers today" written on their windows. For a Texan to write that ... well, at that moment we realized that the terrorists had no idea what they had done.

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NPR's StoryCorps recorded many rembrances of those who lost loved ones in the September 11 attacks. Go to the link and select the September 11 category to listen to them.

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“He was tough on the outside—big, big, soft guy on the inside.”

“When I met Michael I was 14 years old.”

“When he was five, we went into a candy store…”

“When I used to hug him, the whole world disappeared…”

“Her eyes sparkled to me. One day they were blue; the next day they were green.”

“He was a high adventurer.”

“His sister idolized him.”

++++++++++++++

The Anchoress remembers too ...

I haven’t forgotten. I have too many firefighter friends to ever forget. I haven’t forgotten watching the tape of the first Tower burning and saying to my pal, over the phone, “it’s a beautiful clear day; no plane is going to accidentally hit the WTC - this is NOT an accident,” and both of us gasping because, just as I said it, the second plane hit. I haven’t forgotten because my husband was on a plane that morning, traveling on business, and for a little while we didn’t know what flights we were looking at, exploding before our eyes. Those of us who had loved ones in planes heard about the Pentagon, and about a plane going down in Pennsylvania - there were reports (false) that a carbomb was discovered outside of the Supreme Court. My friend called me back, pleading and in shock - “what is happening, what is happening in our country!” Finally the phone call from my husband, trapped in Atlanta, and I was able to call my kids schools and tell the offices, “please, please tell my kids that their father wasn’t on any of those planes, that he is alright!”

++++++++++++++

Who can read this article by one of our national treasures in painting with words and not be swept back in time?

Flight 93 flight attendant Ceecee Lyles, 33 years old, in an answering-machine message to her husband: "Please tell my children that I love them very much. I'm sorry, baby. I wish I could see your face again."

Thirty-one-year-old Melissa Harrington, a California-based trade consultant at a meeting in the towers, called her father to say she loved him. Minutes later she left a message on the answering machine as her new husband slept in their San Francisco home. "Sean, it's me, she said. "I just wanted to let you know I love you."

Capt. Walter Hynes of the New York Fire Department's Ladder 13 dialed home that morning as his rig left the firehouse at 85th Street and Lexington Avenue. He was on his way downtown, he said in his message, and things were bad. "I don't know if we'll make it out. I want to tell you that I love you and I love the kids."

Who among us does not stop, whether a tribute is seen or not, and remember where we were, what we were doing, at that heart-stopping moment when everything changed?

I turn on the TV and watch as the plane slowly flies into the Tower.
Hail Mary, full of grace
My daughter wanders downstairs, shoes in hand,
Turns to look at what has me transfixed on a weekday morning.
The Lord is with thee.

Read it all here

++++++++++++++

A time when even the most public figures struggled with what it meant to be "normal" and "go back to work. When we remembered what united us more than what divided us? When we felt our humanity.

I plucked these photos from those found at The Doctor is In.

I am very glad that Project 2,996 happened year and that I saw so many heartfelt tributes done for so many different kinds of people. It reminds me that the number of people who died is not just a number. Each was a soul, valuable in the eyes of God and to the people all around them. Valuable to us.

"All of you saw today what happened in New York. Consider how many firefighters died today. You will never be able to claim that you don't know what this job is about. Every single day you go out there you don't know what's going to happen or if you'll make it home. Those who responded today planned to go home after their shift...and instead, we're going to be watching funerals of firefighters for weeks. You know what this job is about and you know the risk. So after witnessing something like this, if some of you, or all of you, choose not to come back tomorrow, we will all understand."

Adoro te Devote

++++++++++++++

I continue to be struck by the hard, ongoing work done by others to keep us safe, of the many months of patient work that go in to discover conspiracies still underway.

The 4th of July isn't the day the 13 Colonies won their independence from Britain; it's the day they declared their independence. On the 4th we celebrate their eventual victory, but more than that we celebrate the resolve, vision, and determination which led to that victory.

Today, September 11th, we remember those thousands of innocent American civilians who died in the brutal attack on the Twin Towers. But 9/11 is more that. It is the day we resolved, as a nation, not to knuckle under to the terrorist threat -- and more than that, to stomp it out.

We must not turn 9/11 into a simple day of remembrance. We have not earned that blessing.

We must not lose our determination.

The View From the Foothills

++++++++++++++

We remember not only to honor the victims. We remember also to fuel our determination which can sink low after a seemingly long "safe" time. We need also to remember that time when the things that divided us seemed so much less important than the things that unite us. When we were one people, when hurting any of us hurt each one of us.

We must never forget.