The memories are grim on this somber weekend. Some are communal and shareable. Those memories are of the "where were you when you heard?" type. Others are highly personal and impossible to share. Some are impossible to even articulate. Every anniversary carries its own weight and meaning. Every anniversary is experienced uniquely. The first was quite different from the tenth. Today, there is an entire generation who were toddlers or infants still in the womb during in September of 2001 who are now approaching full adulthood. They have no first-hand memories. Meanwhile, a significant portion of those whose recollections contributed to the communal memory have died.
Twenty years ago this past Friday, September 10, 2001, we woke to the day before the morning of though we didn't know it. The only ones who did were the al-Qaeda terrorists. They were busy making the final checks on their coordinated plan of mass murder. That night we went to bed as usual. Some drifted off into deep sleep while others tossed and turned with worry about the family, finances, or the weather forecast. The great silence descended on monasteries throughout the country after the Church ended her day with the chanting of the Salve Regina at compline:
"Hail Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy
Our life, our sweetness, and our hope. . . . ".
The killers knew it would be their last night alive. None of their thousands of victims knew that when they went to bed that Monday night they would see only one more sunrise. They would kiss their children unaware that it would be for the final time. Others would receive the Body and Blood of Our Lord in what would be their last communion.
When we woke on September 11, 2001 some of us felt refreshed and eager for the day to begin. Others wanted another hour or six of sleep. It was time to brush the teeth, take a shower, and have the first few cups of coffee. At 8:45 AM EDT we were on the way to work or already at school. Some went for a morning run. Others walked the dog. Routine daily tasks had to be done. Perhaps it was garbage day. Perhaps it was the first day on a new job. The sixty seconds between 8:45 and 8:46 marked the last minute of life as we had known it up to then.
Everything changed at 8:46 EDT when American Airlines flight 11 was flown into the North tower of the World Trade Center.
United Airlines flight 175 crashed into the South tower at 9:13 EDT.
American Airlines flight 77 struck the west side of the Pentagon at 9:37 EDT.
United Airlines flight 93, from Newark, NJ to San Francisco was hijacked by Ziad Jarrah who had trained as a pilot here in the U.S. He attempted to divert the plane toward D.C. targeting the White House or the Capitol. After a prolonged struggle between pilots, flight staff, and passengers, Jarrah and his confederates intentionally crashed the plane in an empty field near Shanksville, PA at 10:03 EDT.
The attacks were over.
Twenty years ago last night few of us slept. For those who did, sleep was troubled, non-restoring, and interrupted by nightmares or tears. The silence was deafening. Twenty years ago today was the first full day of the rest of our irrevocably changed lives, lives that would never return to what they had been. It was the first day after the attack. For many the true horror had yet to sink in. The numbers of the dead ticked upward every several hours. Stories of heroism and self-sacrifice were reported almost as if they could be an antidote to despair. Today, twenty years later, those of us who lived through what has come to be called 9/11 still wonder, grieve, and weep.
As we have for the past twenty years, we pray for the victims' families and loved ones. We pray for ourselves. Most especially we pray for those who were killed by radical Islamic terrorists.
Requiem aeternam
dona eis, Domine,
et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Requiescant in pace.
"Eternal rest
grant unto them O Lord,
and let perpetual light shine upon them.
May they rest in peace."
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