Remembering 9/11...

15 years ago, I was in the same place that I am today - a small town, Wellfleet, on the northern tip of Cape Cod.  I was sitting on the deck drinking my morning coffee, taking in the shifting tides.  It was a gorgeous late summer morning by the water.   The silence was broken by my husband's call to "come and see this."  As we watched TV, we thought at first that a small plane had mistakenly hit the World Trade tower.  But then, another plane came from the other side of the towers and exploded into the second tower - no accident.  We looked at each other trying to make sense of what we were seeing.  What had just happened?  Were we being invaded?  We tied on our walking shoes and headed up to the village to see if anyone knew what was happening... to be with other people, other Americans.

As we sat in the restaurant, a couple from New York was trying to reach their children and having trouble getting through.  Worry and panic was written all over their faces.  We all talked, consoled, theorized.  And then, our gaze shifted to the TV as the Pentagon was hit.   Now real fear set in... who would be next?  Where?  The South Tower collapses... horror as the huge building crumbles like it's made of cookies... pieces flying, fire fed from plane's fuel soaring into the sky... dust clouds moving like monsters obliterating everything and everybody. How can this be happening?  Why?  Who?

Then, we heard the result of the unbelievably brave passengers who learned by phone what had happened to the flights in New York and Washington DC.  They knew that they weren't going back to the airport as had been reported on the plane.  They surmised that they were heading to DC - the Capital building, the White House, the Washington Monument?  Huddling together, they decided to rush the cockpit.  Their chances of saving themselves and the plane were so small, but the chances of saving hundreds of other Americans in DC were so great. And so the call was heard, "Let's roll."

My husband and I walked back to the beach... arms around each other, still not comprehending what had just happened.  When we returned, we watched the scrolling names and faces of the people who had been killed on the American Airlines flight #11 out of Boston.  One was a friend and associate of mine, Anna Willams Allison.  She was traveling to vist a client in LA - something we all did regularly.  I broke at that point....

Wellfleet and the Cape lost twenty-two people that day - writers, photograghers, producers, and diectors who flock to the Cape because of the solitude and quiet.  Also lost were people who had grown up here, whose parents were still here, who summered here... all gone in a second.

I had to write today to make myself feel what I felt that day, to put my thoughts down....  I hope you take the time to do the same.

Till,
Judi

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