I woke up around 3:45 a.m. this morning with allergies. (I spent yesterday pulling out bushes and trees that had the audacity to be where I didn't want them, but foolishly I didn't take any extra allergy medicine.) I couldn't fall back to sleep, so I got dressed for seminary and came downstairs with a blanket and curled up in the dark living room.
I was in that weird not quite awake not quite asleep place when I flashed back to something that happened on the morning of Sept. 11, 2001. I was in the kitchen of our "new" house, unpacking boxes, and listening to NPR (WNYC, specifically). Suddenly the reception went out. I climbed off the counter and tried to fiddle with the antenna to get it back in, but nothing worked. I finally switched stations to 95.5 WPLJ. It was the station that I had listened to back in my commuting days and it was still coming in. I listened to the normally silly DJs as they recounted everything that was happening on their screens. We didn't own a TV at the time, so listening to them was all I had to inform me. I immediately called Todd's office and left a message, knowing that his train should have just been pulling into the WTC as everything happened. He didn't answer the phone and the quivery message that I left for him is one that he kept on his voice mail as long as he could. Then I went back to listening. The DJs started taking calls. And this is what was haunting me this morning. They took calls from people who were on the floors above the plane crash. The people were terrified, but amazingly coherent. They were calling for help and to let people know they were there. The DJs reassured them that there was no way the NYFD wouldn't get them out, and just to sit tight and wait. I still hear the background noise on the phone calls and the voices of the people who called in. The building collapsed a short time later and they all died.
It's been nearly seven years since all this happened. And yet when the memory comes unbidden, that's what I hear. I don't have the visual images that everyone else has even though I did eventually go to my in-laws to watch the news and wait to hear from Todd. What I have are voices of the dead. It sort of swipes my feet out from under me when it happens. Whenever the reception goes out on my radio, I have to take deep breaths so I don't burst into tears. Technical difficulties don't go over well with me.
How do people who actually go through this stuff deal with it? I was so much on the periphery of everything. The whole thing didn't really affect me directly and yet I feel like this still. What do people do who were actually there? Or who live through wars or other horrific events? And does it fade? Will I be waking up 50 years from now hearing those same voices?
3 comments:
You weren't on the periphery as much as you think. You were there, your husband could have been there, and there was that period of time of not knowing. I didn't do anything for a week afterward even though we were across the pond in England. Just thinking that I could have been there and thinking of all the families and the nation so greatly affected by the tragedy was horrifying.
No wonder you were commenting on my blog at 4am! Hope you get some rest and feel better today.
Friend, I'm so sorry. Considering how close Todd was to being there, you have every right to feel terrified still. I hope your allergies will clear up so you can sleep better tonight. Sending you a hug, dear.
Thanks for the comments, ladies. I appreciate your words (and hugs!).
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