20 years ago, life was pretty normal. Monday, September 10, 2001, I probably had the usual Monday blahs. I don't actually remember anything about that day. Why would I? Nothing remarkable happened. And then Tuesday. I was moving from one class to the next. There was a weird undercurrent. Mr. Weaver was late to Geography. When he arrived, he told us that there had been a plane crash in New York City, a big one. The school started to realize that something bigger was going on, so we were all herded into the cafeteria to watch the news. My timing is all mixed up, but we were definitely watching when both towers fell. We watched the Pentagon in flames. We watched plumes of smoke in Pennsylvania.
I'm pretty sure we were sent home early that day. I remember going to the gas station and seeing endless lines. At school, my best friend had asked what the World Trade Center was, and I said it had something to do with finance. I didn't really know. But I knew something fundamental had shifted. My mom was flying somewhere a few weeks later, and our car was searched for explosive material before we entered the airport grounds. The airport had checkpoints now. We couldn't go in with her. When I took my first flight ever a few years earlier, my sister had come with us all the way to the gate. No ticket required.
I don't think I'll ever forget where I was when I first heard the news. But other memories are fading. Unity gave way to tribes and factions. Our love for the first responders turned into distrust and fear. A war that started when I was 16 turned into something undefined and "ended" in disgrace.
The echoes of what happened on September 11 will be felt for decades to come. I will likely never know in my lifetime everything that happened before, on, and because of that day. But I know what it did to me. I know how it made me feel. I know that for one brief moment, this country was unified in a common grief. I will never forget that.
It seems a bit cheap to talk about my week after that, but another thing I learned that day is that life goes on. There was a September 12. The world didn't stop turning, and so, neither must we. It is appropriate, though, that we started our week with Rosh HaShanah. Or Labor Day. But I prefer a good shofar.
I FINALLY finished my thank you cards and prayer letter this week. They have been long delayed, but I hope the content will be worth the wait.
A good part of my week has actually been spent talking about next week. We will be having Missionary Council. Many of our top regional leaders will be in Greenwood to discuss the future. This typically happens every year, but, you know, 'Rona. Normally, I have very little to do with MC. But we did such a good job of running the CMF Seminar that our glorious leaders asked us to do the same. Of course, it's next week. Running a successful Zoom call isn't simply a matter of clicking a button. We'll be fine, I'm sure, but I do appreciate slightly more warning.
Otherwise, I've been working on Tamil. I'm getting so close to being done! If I was a better employee, I'd stay and finish it. But I'm exhausted. And any work I do right now would be pretty much useless. Maybe I'll come in this weekend.
Bye!
(Where were you 20 years ago?)
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