My Personal 9/11 Story

September 11, 2001.

A day most Americans will never forget.

A tragic day, but a day that brought this country together as not seen since December 7, 1941, when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor.

Sadly, it may well be the last time this nation unite in one voice.

Twenty years.

I scarcely can wrap my mind around this.

There are days when it still feels as if it had happened yesterday.

My husband (JJ) and I recently moved to Raleigh, North Caroline from Ithaca, NY late April of 2001.

We’d been married for less than two years, and as natives of New York state, we both wanted a fresh start.

My brother, Rick, was already living in Cary (and the main reason why we chose this area) with his family of four.

By the second week of May, we were working in our new jobs.

In July, I flew back to upstate NY for my baby sister’s wedding.

It’d be the last time I fly until fall of 2018.

The morning of September 11, 2001 was a clear beautiful day.

I was one of three tellers working at the Lake Boone Trail branch (for RBC Centura) but this morning, I ended up as the only one with Annette having to leave early for personal reason and the other, Remi, wasn’t scheduled to come in until mid-morning (he didn’t come in at all).

The only other person in the branch with me was the branch manager, Waller.

We didn’t open until 9am and I was going through the usual counting my drawer bit when Waller approached the counter.

It was about 8:50am.

“My mother just called and said to turn on the television.” He said as he came around to my side of the counter.

I followed him through a doorway that led to the breakroom in the back.

He switched on the small television on a stand.

Immediately I saw the image of the Twin Towers.

Heavy smoke was billowing out of one of them.

The news was speculating that a small aircraft might have struck the building.

Waller then left to unlock the doors since it was 9am.

My eyes remained fixed on the screen. I was unable to move yet I knew I needed to get back to the counter in case any customers came in.

Waller had just returned and together we watched as a second plane smashed into the other Tower.

It was at that moment when I knew that this was no accident.

Surreal is the only way I can describe the rest of that day.

I spent the morning pacing back and forth between the main lobby and the breakroom.

Dread filled me as I watched the events unfold.

I witnessed the collapse of the South Tower live on the TV as images filled my mind of those still trapped being crushed to death only to see it all over again when the North Tower fell.

The branch where I worked was only a few miles from the RDU (Raleigh-Durham International Airport). I’d hear the planes flying overhead all day long – after working there for a few weeks, I hardly noticed them at all.

By late morning, the silence was nearly deafening as airplanes across the country were grounded.

All were accounted for – except for one.

Flight 93.

The news was reporting on rumors of the possibility that this plane was heading either for the White House or the Capitol building.

It wasn’t too long when we learned that it actually crashed in Pennsylvania.

God bless them.

Lake Boone Trail, located near downtown and next door to a major hospital, was a very busy area. The branch was normally crazy, but on that day, I had only two customers.

For that I was grateful since I was pretty much in a daze all day.

In disbelief. And in grief for all the lives impacted by these hideous attacks.

I didn’t know it then but learned a few days later that my brother, Rick, who was a reservation specialist at the center in Cary for American Airlines, sat only a few feet from the person who took the call from Betty Ong, a flight attendant for Flight 11.   More on this here

I suppose the terrorists thought that these attacks would shake our resolve to want to fight back – they never expected us to come together, unified in true patriotism as such I’ve never seen in my life (and haven’t seen since).

About a month later, we were in Afghanistan.

Life went on, and over time, people began to forget what it was like to be true patriots.

Divisions formed until the divide was as great as the trenches in the deepest ocean.

What happened to us?

Bottom line?

We turned our backs from our true roots as Americans.

But most of all, we turned our backs from God and the Biblical foundation that our country was founded upon.

My husband, JJ, was nineteen when he fought in the Persian Gulf War (1991). He went on to do at least two more tours.

His brother, Scott, spent over a year in Afghanistan as a combat medic.

We have many friends who served over there.

So as we watched the fall of Afghanistan, and the Taliban taking it back, and as we left behind fellow Americans there…

I can’t help but wonder when the next 9/11 will happen.

JJ seems to think that our country is finished.

I tend to be the optimist between us and I’m hoping – praying that he’s wrong.

I don’t believe nor do I trust in the government.

I believe in God. And I pray that He is not finished with us, yet.