Shafts of sunlight streamed through our bedroom window, a bright beginning to a Tuesday. I pulled on my suit and knotted a tie, eyeing my watch. I had about an hour before I was scheduled to board a 10:45 a.m. flight to Mexico City for a business meeting.
As I fussed with my tie, Dianna burst into the bedroom, an anguished look on her face. "You won't believe this," she excitedly said, her voice beginning to crack. "An airplane just crashed into the World Trade Center." Her eyes misted as I flicked on the television and slumped on the bed.
That was my first glimpse of a horrific image that left me gasping. The news network replayed video of a fully loaded American Airlines passenger plane inexplicably crashing into the north tower. Somehow, I sensed this Tuesday was about to become America's worst nightmare.
Eighteen minutes later a United Airlines flight barreled into the 110-foot skyscraper, exploding in a fireball. This was no longer air disaster. America was under attack. Like millions of Americans, Dianna and I camped in front of the television on September 11, 2001, hoping, praying for a miracle.
Just when we thought the worst was over, a news flash broke the spell: an American Airlines jet had slammed into the Pentagon. Television cameras broadcast live images from Washington. Shocking scenes of death and panic. Family called, inquiring if we had heard the dreadful news.
In New York, first responders swarmed the city's yawning canyons. Firemen rushed into burning buildings, courageously battling intense heat and smoke-choked towers. As the blaze raged, firefights caked in dust, slumped in exhaustion, but fought on to honor their duty to save lives.
As we continued our televised vigil, torrid fires engulfed the twin towers. Americans glued to their televisions will never forget what happened next. The south tower collapsed in a mushrooming cloud of dust and billowing smoke. It was a sickening sight, vividly seared into my memory.
Thousands trapped in the north tower peered from windows, waving frantically, desperate for a rescue that never came. A few terrified people leaped to their deaths minutes before the tower crumbled to the ground in a thunderous roar. Six souls miraculously survived the unspeakable holocaust.
Inconceivably, the terror was not over. A fourth plane was hijacked about 40 minutes after it departed Newark. Passengers, aware of the the tragedy in New York and Washington, bravely battled the four hijackers. The melee ended when the plane plummeted into a Pennsylvania field, killing all aboard.
Hours later New Yorkers poured into ground zero in flickering hope of finding missing love ones who worked in the towers. Soon pictures of the lost were taped to light standards and buildings. Dust rained down like snow on the the frenzied crowd, determined to believe their search was not in vain.
September 11th changed America forever. The cowardly jihadist attacks killed 2,996 people, including 343 New York firefighters, 23 police officers and 17 Port Authority members, who heroically struggled to evacuate the office buildings. Americans were grief-stricken, frightened and angry.
The fatality toll made the September 11th attacks the deadliest in American history. The Japanese navy's bombardment of Pearl Harbor in 1941 claimed the lives of 2,403. These two violent episodes both united Americans in ways the country has not experienced in the intervening years.
As daylight faded to dusk on September 11, Americans streamed into houses of worship as church bells peeled throughout our land. We gathered and wept and prayed together. Crowds, unable to find room in cramped houses of worship, huddled outside. A reverent, hush cloaked the surroundings.
Rabbis, ministers and priests knitted together hastily arranged memorial services to mourn victims. The outpouring of religious fervor was unprecedented. Many Americans rediscovered their faith in God in the midst of overwhelming tragedy. Our faith was never stronger, never tested as much.
Candlelight memorials sprung up in parks, open lots and neighborhoods Strangers hugged one another to console mutual grief. People seemed kinder, setting aside differences. Americans helped each other, opening our homes and hearts to neighbors and the weary. Nothing mattered more than our country..
Soon American flags sprouted in yards across the country. Businesses draped Old Glory from office windows. Handmade signs proclaimed, "Never Forget." Flags dotted the landscape from sea to shining sea. Everyone was proud to be an American. We were all in this together. Patriotism was back in style.
A byproduct of this unity was an outpouring of public support for President George W. Bush, Polling documented his approval rating soared to 92% in October, an unheard display of national solidarity. Both political parties joined hands in a rare display of bipartisanship to back the war on terror.
At that time, most Americans had not been born to witness the Pearl Harbor bombing. For most of us, it was our first experience with such destruction and death. This was our moment of personal and national reckoning. Would we rise to the challenge as our parents did in 1941?
The answer came swiftly as young men and women volunteered in droves to serve in the military to strike back at the terrorists. Firemen from surrounding cities rallied to assist New York. National guard outfits dashed to the scenes. Ordinary Americans pitched in to help victims, donating money and time.
In the ensuring weeks and months, Americans donned NYFD hats, flew flags from their cars and trucks, and wore tee shirts with images of the twin towers. Everywhere you looked, there was a wave of red, white and blue. Our nation was attacked, but the American spirit was not defeated.
Over twenty years, the emotions of that day have softened but remained tender in the recesses of our heart. Our nation's marking of that tragic day has waned over two decades, but the 20th anniversary has sparked renewed nationalism. Perhaps, that will fuel a rebirth of patriotism.
We must never forget the firefighters, police and paramedics who sacrificed their lives to rescue fellow Americans as well as the military men and women who fought and died on foreign soil to defeat the terrorists. They deserve the eternal thanks of a grateful nation.
My memory of that soul-crushing day is as intense as ever. Mixed with the pain, a glimmer of wonderment lingers. From the darkest of days, good followed. For me, the blessing of September 11th occurred when Americans reclaimed our cherished identity as one nation, under God.
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