2001 was a difficult, traumatic year. My first husband, Rich, had been diagnosed with congestive heart failure, cardiomyopathy, and Marfan Syndrome in 1987. He’d been doing well until we relocated from Maryland back to New York. I noticed his fatigue, increasing pain from a bad ankle, and weakness. I suspect he had undiagnosed sleep apnea and often would fall asleep within minutes of sitting down to watch television.
In the spring, he fainted at work and was taken by ambulance to the emergency room at the nearest hospital. He’d gone into atrial fibrillation. To bring his heart beat back to a normal rhythm, they gave him a little anesthesia and used the paddles. He told me later that the anesthesia hadn’t worked well and he felt the electrical shocks each time the paddles were used. “I never want to go through that again,” he told me.
He was released after a week in the cardiac unit. Rich, the kids and I enjoyed a lovely trip to Fire Island on Easter Sunday.
Less than a month later, he told me quietly, “It’s happening again.” He meant the A-fib. He was scheduled to see an electro-cardiologist the following day. We called the cardiologist who’d been following him. The doctor didn’t feel the a-fib was anything to worry about. He suggested we bring it up with the new electro-cardiologist the following day. Meanwhile, he advised Rich to take a little more of his digoxin.
Rich was still scared. I sat watching TV with him but, around midnight, he said I should just go up to bed. I was battling a nasty sinus infection and he wanted me to get some rest. Reluctantly, I agreed.
Some time in the night, he died.
Shock and grief are hard work. We needed help dealing with it all so I got us involved with bereavement classes. I joined widownet.org. It was a struggle to go on but there was no other choice.
I was working as a freelance interpreter for the Deaf and had secured placement with a vocational training school for disabled adults. There were always Deaf clients there and I had been there a year already. During my down time, I was allowed to surf the internet and work on creative writing stories.
On the morning of September 11, though, I couldn’t access the internet to check the news. The teachers all noticed problems with the internet and just assumed a server was down somewhere. The clients were unaware; they were all working on individual projects. The Deaf clients were all working independently so I worked on my story a little. I’d check back to see if I could get the website I used for news.
At about 9, the internet was back. I checked the news and, to my horror, saw images of a plane crashing into the north tower of the World Trade Center. At that time, reporters thought it was an accident; that the pilot somehow had gotten confused about where he was going. But this wasn’t a little plane, it was a 747. It was a clear, beautiful morning.
And as I watched the live video, I saw a second plane coming close. I couldn’t believe my eyes as it crashed into the south tower. This was no accident. I looked around and saw that the teachers were all aware of what happened. They were clustered together and I went over to join them. We knew we were being attacked. The lead teacher said we weren’t going to inform and alarm the clients. We would continue to act as if it was a normal day as long as possible.
I grew up developing the skill to hide my feelings. I felt numb and sick, realizing that the attacks were acts of war. I didn’t give that away as I continued to interpret and, during down time, check the news. The Pentagon was attacked. I heard that a fourth plane seemed to be headed to Washington DC as well, possibly toward the Capitol or White House.
I learned that the lead teacher’s husband was in one of the towers. Her poise was remarkable. She was frequently on the phone, trying to get news of her husband, but she was also focused on the task at hand.
When both towers collapsed, I thought: for the first time, I’m glad Rich isn’t here to see this. But, at the same time, I missed him dreadfully as I wondered what was going to happen next. A few of the clients were tapped gently on the shoulder and asked to come into the principal’s office. I knew that it meant they had family members in the towers because they didn’t come back. Fortunately, the Deaf clients didn’t have any relatives in the centers.
Before I returned from lunch, I found a phone (yes, one of those Ma Bell dial-up things) and called my kids’ schools just to check on them. I was assured they were all fine and there’d been no announcements. When I saw the kids later, they told me many classmates were suddenly pulled and didn’t return.
By the time the training day was over, I’d learned the brave passengers of Flight 93 (the fourth plane) had overpowered the hijackers and brought the plane down in an empty field in Pennsylvania. They were all heroes. I still remember hearing the voice clip of Todd Beamer just before the passengers stormed the hijackers: “Let’s roll.”
When I got home, I could see much more of the devastation from the attacks. Most horrifying of all was the sound of bodies hitting the ground as trapped, desperate people jumped from the towers to avoid being burned alive. The hijackers made sure they got on planes that were fully fueled to inflict as much damage as they could.
They did. Thousands died that day, and the whole country was in shock. I was numb all over again, as I had been for weeks after Rich’s death. When I did feel an emotion, it wasn’t fear or despair. It was anger. My hope was bolstered by the stories of heroism by the Flight 93 passengers, people in the towers who helped others get out, and most especially by the first responders. President Bush said: “Make no mistake: The United States will hunt down and punish those responsible for these cowardly acts.”
Never was I prouder to be an American. We bonded across the country. We played “Proud To Be An American” by Lee Greenwood. It took 10 years and wars, but Osama bin Laden (leader of al-Qaeda, responsible for the attacks) was finally located and killed by a squad of specialist soldiers.
I am sad we don’t have that sense of unity anymore.
A lot of informative links about 9/11:
Prager University’s video for those born after 2001
Dan Rather/Elliot Kirschner’s 9/11 21 Years Later
A positive from all of this is from an article in my Nice Newsletter. Pay It Forward 9/11
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