Much
to mourn in the second week of September.
Most
Americans are recalling where they were five years ago on September 11, 2001.
Television, newspapers and news magazines are printing feature stories about
survivors or anyone who had a connection to the tragedy that day. The news
media and talk shows are reviewing events since then: the wars in Afghanistan
and Iraq, 911 Commission Report, establishment of the Department of Homeland
Security, the controversy over wire-tapping without court approval,
transportation and border security.
Most
pundits agree that it is not a question of whether there will be another terror
attack in the United States but a question of when. And we canÕt forget that a
disgruntled American carried out one of the worst attacks in this country in
Oklahoma City. In the 1990s, a local man named Dan Shoemaker, employed in one
of our Galesburg schools, no less, threatened our Sheriff, States Attorney,
police chief and others because he was mad at the American Ōsystem.Ķ
None
of the events of that day and since should be forgotten. They should be
ruminated and discussed openly with friends and acquaintances, for it gets more
apparent by the day that our instincts and ideas are as knowledgeable and
important as those in Washington, D.C. As American citizens, we are responsible
for our own survival and thatÕs why our local emergency services are the key
when any disaster strikes, whether generated by dangerous weather or
terrorists. When the chips are down, itÕs preparation on the local level that
will make the difference. The local agencies know this and are getting
prepared. They are waiting for the rest of us to face reality.
On
Tuesday, September 11, 2001, I returned home after attending a SunRise Rotary breakfast meeting. My business was
managed in my home, so I decided to relax, read the paper and have another cup
of coffee before starting work. I turned on the television and the first tower
had already been attacked. Horrified, I watched the second plane, live, plow
into the second tower. With tears streaming down my face, I sat there all day,
watching the tragedy unfold. My husband was visiting friends in Alexis that
morning, so I was alone and the first person I saw was the poor Culligan man,
who found me nearly hysterical and was no doubt very glad to get out of the
house.
But
my sad feelings about 9/11 are mixed with feelings of heartache about my
father. About three days after the terrorist attack, my father, in his
mid-nineties, fell and broke his hip. He was to have surgery immediately and I
really didnÕt think he could live through it. The question was - how to get
down to Sarasota, Florida. There were few planes flying, and those that were
cost thousands of dollars for a one-way flight.
My
daughter and I decided to make a quick auto trip to be there during the
surgery. I picked her up about 1:30 p.m., north of Springfield, and we barreled
our way across the country. About 11 p.m. that night we found ourselves zipping
through downtown Atlanta. Since the Braves werenÕt playing, it seemed like a
good route. The scene was unreal. The streets were empty of cars and
pedestrians. We looked up at the tall buildings of the city, completely lit and
beautiful. How interesting these skyscrapers are all lit up, I said, four days
after skyscrapers in another city were targets for terrorists. It was as if
Atlanta was thumbing its nose at the terrorists, saying, we arenÕt afraid of
you. Life will continue in America.
The
next day we arrived about 4:30 and my father had just gone into surgery. We
found my little mother, also in her 90s, in the waiting room. My father
survived the surgery. Knowing my brother was on his
way, (they had planes moving in Chicago by that time), we stayed a day and a
half and headed home.
For
the last few years of his life, my father was just plain annoyed that he wasnÕt
well. He shut out television, newspapers and lost all interest in current
events. I tried to tell this intelligent man and lawyer who loved to discuss
politics, history and current events, about the events of September 11. He
acted like he didnÔt comprehend it, but I think he did. I think it was just too
horrific and he didnÕt want to hear or think about it. I donÕt blame him.
Two
years later, on September 7, 2003, my father died. No doubt about it, for many
reasons, the second week of September is a time for mourning.
Caroline
Porter is a freelance writer who can be reached at cporter@galesburg.net.