9/11

Tomorrow is the 2-year anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. I remember that day all too well. I wasn't working at the time, and since my dear beloved one could sleep through a nuclear holocaust, I have to be the human alarm clock, so I was up and watching the news on our local ABC affiliate when they broke in saying the World Trade Center was on fire, and cut in to Good Morning America live from the East Coast. I didn't turn the TV off for 3 days. I'd catnap here and there, but for the most part I didn't stop watching the news for 3 days straight. I can close my eyes and still see the 2nd plane banking into the south tower, the fireball erupting out from behind the north tower, the shower of papers like some kind of apocalyptic snowglobe. I distinctly remember Peter Jennings saying that a plane had apparently crashed into the Pentagon, and thinking to myself, "The WHATagon??" in absolute incredulity. I even remember watching the south tower collapse, and a moment later realizing that my hand was over my mouth, which was hanging open in shock, almost like some milquetoast housewife who just watched the family cat turned into street pizza. There have been so many accounts of people who say they are sad, they've cried, they're angry, they've sought counselling, they're on medication for post-9/11 depression. I've done none of those things. Here it is, 2 years later, and I'm still in shock. Every time I see a video clip of the planes slamming into the towers, I feel that same sensation all over again, like being kicked in the stomach by a very small pony with very large hooves. It's like it's not really real. Like it didn't really happen. Like it was some bizarre TV mini-series that gets re-run occasionally. Like no matter how many times I see the same footage, no matter how many specials I watch, it's not true. It's all some horrible nightmare. I don't know if I'll ever really be able to accept it, short of actually visiting Ground Zero. But I do know one thing. I'll never be able to forget.