Where were you twenty-three years ago on this day? This is a day that, for many of us, is seared into our memories. I can remember my parents talking about the day JFK was shot and how almost everyone from that era remembers precisely where they were and what they were doing when the news announced that our president had been shot and killed. The trauma and tragedy of that day became part of the fabric of the collective, and I've never spoken to anyone unaffected by the loss and sorrow of that day. 911 is the same. This day's profound impact, vulnerability, tragedy, and loss continue to affect the collective mindset. It has become part of who we are as a country. We continue to grieve for the loss of life, for the families, and for those who sacrificed. This day is a solemn day that we should never forget.
Twenty-three years ago, today began like any other day. I was teaching at Brookville Area Jr./Sr. High School. I was in my new classroom, across the hall from the junior high office. The morning was filled with normal school day activities, classes, kids, and colleagues. There were whispers among adults that there was a tragic plane crash in NYC, but it was viewed as precisely that initially, a sad and freakish accident. Between classes, we were permitted to turn on our classroom televisions. I had turned on the Today Show, and little was known about the accident. My students began to filter in, and the kids were abuzz with rumors and gossip. I turned off my television and tried to create order from the adolescent energy that was running high. A few minutes after class began, my good friend and assistant principal stopped by my room to quietly inform me that the second tower had been hit, and there were rumors of other planes being hijacked. He told me I could turn on my television if I wanted to. Of course, the kids were willing to sacrifice instructional time, so we turned on the news. Soon after, a school-wide announcement was made to turn on our classroom televisions.
I remember how quiet the school became once the televisions were turned on to the news broadcast. We all sat in stunned silence as we watched the footage of the towers collapsing in flames. Then the story began to break that it was a potential terrorist attack and other flights were at risk. Classes were canceled, and everyone was to stay in their current classroom until further notice. Very little was said; some girls began to cry, and some kids put their heads down to block out the insanity of it all. In a junior high classroom, the silence was rare and added to the atmosphere of fear.
To add another layer of fear and horror to the day, my dad was flying home from his ranch in Texas that morning. I went across the hall to ask permission to call home and check on him. Permission was granted, but when I spoke to my mom, she had not heard from him and could not contact him on his cell phone. I made a phone call home every fifteen minutes to check on my mom and try to learn about my dad's safety. It was the longest day that I can recollect up to that point in my life. I flitted between panic and denial that anything bad could happen to him. The fear and worry were tangible.
After forty minutes, the decision was made to send everyone home for the day. Busses were brought in, and everyone was instructed to go home and take comfort in their families. As I drove the few blocks between my little cottage by the library and the school, very few cars were on the roads. The little town that I called home was eerily silent. When I got home, I called my mom, and we sat on the phone together, watching in horror and disbelief that people were jumping to their deaths to escape the burning and collapsing towers. I remember crying and asking my mom how this could be happening. I wanted to go home, to the farm, but my mom was worried about me driving the hour alone on the roads. She was already panicking about my dad, so I appeased her and stayed in Brookville. We stayed on the phone together for hours.
Finally, my dad was able to get enough cell phone service to call my mom. Thankfully, he was safe, but the airports were chaotic, and he would not be home for hours. I remember being relieved that he was safe but also being scared to death that something would happen to him in transit. Everything felt very unstable, and the country was paralyzed with fear. I sat glued to the television, unable to turn it off, with tears streaming down my face. It all felt very personal, and my heart was breaking with every news update.
The school district canceled school the next day due to the tragedy. My dad was now home safely and advised me to go to the store and stock up on bottled water and emergency supplies "just to be safe." I did as he asked, and for some unknown reason, I purchased supplies for the local humane society. I swung into the humane society to drop off donations and went to the cat room. I'm not even sure why I did this at this time. As I scratched the ears of the kitties seeking attention, I looked up and saw two huge blue eyes looking down at me. I asked the volunteer if I could see the kitty on the top shelf with the big blue eyes. They told me she was in poor health and that I should look at other cats. I stubbornly told them I wanted to see her and no other.
They reluctantly brought her down from the cage on the top shelf, and I was greeted by the sweetest Himalayan cat with big blue eyes, a grey face, and no hair on the rest of her body. She was the most pitiful creature I have ever seen. I made the decision immediately that I was taking this poor girl home. The volunteers tried to talk me out of it. They told me her vet bills would be exorbitant, but I was smitten with this poor little creature who clung to me like I was her last hope. As I sat in my car, not entirely understanding why I was adopting this little hairless bag of bones, I called my vet's office and told them what I had done. I asked if there was any way they could see this little cat before I took her home. I was told to bring her over immediately, but there would be an emergency charge for the visit. At this point, I was committed to saving this little cat and threw caution and common sense out the window.
When I arrived at the vet's office, I was given forms to fill out and asked to provide a credit card for payment. I gave the receptionist my credit card, and the kitty and I were taken to an examination room. I had to provide a name for my new charge. I snuggled her and told her I would name her Pearl because she was in such rough condition currently, but I knew with love and care, she would be healthy and gorgeous. Pearl was taken out of the examination room to have tests run and blood drawn. When the vet tech returned, she told me Pearl had double ear infections, an allergic reaction to fleas, and an infected tooth. Pearl was returned to me, and we waited for the doctor to give me a full report of her diagnosis.
When the doctor entered the room, he handed me my credit card and hugged me unexpectedly. He told me he was waiving all fees for her treatment because "it did his heart good to see someone act with such kindness." He told me he needed this today and was doing his part to put a little goodness back into the world. I didn't know what to say, so I cried and thanked him. We had a brief conversation about the country's tragedy, hugged again, and I went home with a small arsenal of medications for my Pearl-Girl. My little rescue cat did not disappoint; she was indeed a beautiful girl once she had time to heal and experience love and safety.
Each year, when I remember the events of 911, I remember the tragedy. However, I also remember how a little blue-eyed cat with no hair on her body brought out the best in a small group of people looking for goodness in a world gone mad. One small act of kindness can have a positive impact. Never forget that. Never forget.
Remember on this day of solemnity. However, I also gently encourage you to perform at least one small act of kindness in honor of those who have lost so much and to counteract the tragedy of this day. Stay safe, be smart, be kind, be compassionate, be the goodness this world needs, and keep washing your hands.
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