September 11, 2011

Yesterday afternoon, I had some friends over to play mah jongg.  Lemon was home, working on her homework.  She came out onto the deck where we sat in the late summer sun and cool breeze, and asked us, “Do you mind if I interview you guys about 9/11? It’s my homework.”

That’s how on the day before 9/11, Lemon and three of my friends ended up spending the afternoon talking about that day.  The days after.  The years after.

One of my friends was in New York, and had to call her husband who was going to go into work late that day (in the World Trade Center) not to go. The other two were here in the Boston area.  I was in California.

Lemon remembers the morning, too.  Her memory: “I thought you guys were watching a show.  I didn’t know it was real.  And I was mad, because I wanted to watch Sagwa.”

Because we were in California, we were asleep at 5:45 a.m. when the first tower was hit.  We found out what happened when my father called us:  “Sue! We’re at war!  The United States is being attacked!  You need to come home!”  [I was 28 years old, 5 years married, and he still felt that I needed to come home.]  I spent the next hours, t.v. on, looking out my window at my [obscured] view of San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge, looking for our plane. Would one hit here?

Politically, I’ve not agreed with many of the reactions to the events on 9/11/01.  I’m not happy about the current wars.

I thought that would lead me to feel jaded on this anniversary.

But I don’t.  I feel sad.  And I feel it’s important to remember.



One comment

  1. It is important to remember, but I’m not going to spend the day following all the 9/11 coverage because I’m finding it too stressful. In fact, I’m heading out for a long-ish run soon, because I want to pound out the stress on the pavement.

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