Remembering, Ten Years On

Source: jnn1776

I’m having a hard time accepting that it has actually been ten years since September 11th, 2001. There are things that happened last week, or last year, that I have difficulty recollecting, but ask me about that day, and the memory of it, the shock of it, is seared into my mind.

The summer of 2001 was full of fun for us – a J1 summer, spent selling sunglasses in Provincetown, MA (a place everyone should visit at least once in their lives). We finished work on Labor Day Weekend, and then packed up our bags and headed to New York to stay with Charlie’s uncle and do some sightseeing before we headed for home. During our time in New York, we knew we wouldn’t be able to fit everything in. We spent an afternoon at the top of the Empire State Building, promising ourselves that we’d go to the Twin Towers next time… We flew home to Ireland on September 9th, 2001.

Two days later, my mother and I were in Limerick city, doing some shopping and collecting my photographs of the summer from the developers. (It’s details like this make me realise how long ago it actually was – I didn’t even own a digital camera. It really was ten years ago.) I showed her the photos, pointing out the landmarks I knew the names of, and talking her through our summer. On our way out of the car park, we stopped to pay the attendant. “Turn on your radio – turn on your radio!” he said urgently, “There’s been a plane crash – an accident. One of the Twin Towers has been hit in New York.” As we drove from the city centre to a local shopping centre, the second plane hit, and it became obvious that this was no accident.

It was lunchtime in Ireland when the events of September 11th started to unfold, but that was still one of the longest days of my life. I have two cousins who were also on their J1 visas in the US that summer, both of whom were in New York on September 11th. One of them, Lee, was due to fly home that day. We heard an hour or two after the towers were struck that his flight was grounded indefinitely but he was safe. The day passed, slowly, with no word from Stephen, my other cousin.

At around 9 or 10pm, I remember my Dad saying to me, “It’s not looking good Lisa. It’s been too long. Stephen’s in trouble.” The fear. Minutes passed like hours and the phone still didn’t ring. The waiting. It was after 11pm when we finally got the news that he was ok. The relief.

I have friends in the US who don’t know anyone, directly or indirectly, who was in the Twin Towers that day. But Ireland is a funny country. We all seem to know each other – directly or indirectly. If you meet someone new in Ireland, it’s only a matter of time before you figure out who you have in common. And New York is full of Irish people. So as the days passed, we started to hear stories of others who hadn’t been so lucky. Forget six degrees of separation we joke – here it’s one degree, two at most. An American relation lost her son.  We had met her and her husband for the first time earlier that summer when they made a trip to Ireland to visit and to reconnect with family. The newspapers, television, and radio were full of stories of others who had suffered similar losses.

Ten years have passed, but the shock of that day hasn’t really worn off. When our TV stations flash images of the towers, the planes, the smoke from that day, I have to look away. The emotions from that day are still too strong. I can only imagine what it must be like for Americans this week.

No matter the rights and wrongs of all that has passed in the years in between, I do not want to think about that this weekend. I just want to take the time to remember those who were lost. To remember those who were saved, and the heroism of those who worked so hard to save them. To remember those who lost loved ones that day. To remember those who were shocked to their cores by events of that day.

Ten years on, remembering.