We all have a story of 9/11. Here is mine.
My story begins, not on the day itself, but in 1999 when I joined a high school class trip to New York City. Although transfixed by the twin towers (and the two aptly shaped cows below that was the trade centre’s contribution to NYC’s cowparade movement to display public art throughout the city), we were moved by the memorial at the base of the towers to commemorate the victims of the bombing in 1993.
I later heard on TV that the attackers had intended to knock the towers over into the water – a thought I shuddered at, but suspected was somewhat improbable.
But, of course, I was wrong.
Ten years ago today I woke up early to finish some political science work, and I listened to Steven Curtis Chapman’s song ‘Heaven in the Real World’ before my first university French class.
How appropriate the song was for that day:
I saw it again today in the face of a little child
Looking through the eyes of fear and uncertainty
It echoed in a cry for freedom across the street and across the miles
Cries from the heart to find the missing part
Where is the hope, where is the peace?
That will make this life complete
For every man, woman, boy, and girl
Looking for heaven in the real world
To stand in the pouring rain and believe the sun will shine again
To know that the grave is not the end
To feel the embrace of grace and cross the line where real life begins
And know in your heart you've found the missing part
There is a hope, there is a peace
That will make this life complete
For every man, woman, boy, and girl
Looking for heaven in the real world
Heaven in the real world
It happened one night with a tiny baby's birth
God heard creation crying and He sent heaven to earth
He is the hope, He is the peace
That will make this life complete
For every man, woman, boy and girl
Looking for heaven in the real world
The professor had to conduct one-on-one sessions with each student to gauge whether we were in the appropriate level of French, and she asked for several volunteers to return on Thursday. I was one of the volunteers. I returned to my dorm room, but decided to take a library tour. While walking to the library I overheard a conversation about a plane crash in NYC, but thought nothing more of it. Until I reached the library.
Dozens of people had gathered around a television in the library near the site of the start of the tour. We don’t usually do this, the guide told us, but today was different.
I joined the silent crowd watching the news coverage. I believe – although I cannot remember because of all the ensuing news coverage – that the towers had already collapsed by this point.
Regardless, I knew that something horrible had just happened. And I immediately had that sense that the world was never going to be the same; that the day would be a dividing mark.
I took the tour with a number of other students, including a veiled-Muslim woman. It was one of the first times I had seen a veiled woman. After the tour I returned home and called my parents.
I ate lunch (a panzerotti) with a friend from my hometown in the cafeteria and then later joined dormmates in the TV lounge. I was shocked by their cursing because I thought they were being very insensitive. I did not, at the time, realize that people swore to express amazement and used curse words as their default lingo because they had trouble expressing themselves through more appropriate means.
They were, in their own way, and just like me, horrified and dumbfounded.
“SHOCK” is what I wrote in my journal. “I can’t believe it – this cannot be true – it didn’t happen. Terrorist airplanes crashed into the World Trade Centre..What a terrible day.”
Indeed, what a terrible day it was a decade ago today.
May God comfort those who continue to mourn.
