Being a journalist, I had television news on at home as I finished getting ready for work. When the breaking news flashed about a Manhattan airplane hitting the Twin Towers, I thought: Hurry up! It's gonna be a busy day. I assumed it was some small plane crash, an accident. I was in the car and on my way when a close friend. She was screaming. I finally was able to make out what she was saying: her favorite niece worked in the Twin Towers. There was smoke everywhere, she told me, and the buildings were on fire.
When I got into the newsroom, it was chaos. We had television screens on everywhere and as we watched, the second plane plowed into the tower. My friend kept calling me, desperate for any new details, a survivor list, anything. And as I kept watching, over and over, the footage of the plane, the impact, the smoke, the building imploding and sinking to its knees, I thought: nobody survived this. I wondered when and how my friend would find out her niece was dead.
She called me about 2 pm. Her niece was alive.
The niece had had a fight with her boyfriend that morning. So she was running late on her way downtown to her office. She exited the subway station literally after the plane had hit, coming up into a hell of noise and falling glass and people screaming. So she just started running. She ran as fast as she could uptown, not thinking about anything but getting away from whatever terrible thing had just happened. It was hours before she discovered it was an attack, was able to get somewhere far enough away and borrow a cell phone and call her family.
A year later, the niece married the boyfriend. They still live in Manhattan.
When I think of 9-11, I remember this amazing arc: Routine, shock, denial, horror, hope, despair -- and resurrection. An arc that can span a lifetime. Or only six hours.
I light a candle today for all who lost their lives, and for those who live on and keep them in their memory.