When my daughter asked if she could interview me about where I was on September, 11, 2001, I didn’t hesitate with my answers. Like the rest of the country, I remember in vivid detail where I was when I heard a rogue plane had flown into the World Trade Center.
My grandfather had died just days before, and I was sleeping on an air mattress at my grandma’s house when an aunt rushed in the front door, imploring us to turn on the television. I remember exactly how I felt, watching the second plane, on live TV, careen into the South Tower. I so vividly remember the pause — the disbelief, the horror, of the news anchor, clamoring for words while the world realized we were under attack.
File:UA Flight 175 hits WTC south tower 9-11 edit.jpeg – Wikimedia …File:UA Flight 175 hits WTC south tower 9-11 edit.jpeg – Wikimedia …
I can still feel the hot tears on my cheeks as the towers fell, thinking of the thousands of people trapped inside, waiting for a rescue that wouldn’t come. Nineteen years later, I can still hear the recordings of the phone calls from UA93 with messages of love and hope, sadness and resolve.
For so many of our military families, we remember with almost a painstaking detail the moments, hours, days and weeks that followed – the start of 19 years of war. Our operational tempo hasn’t slowed since, and while we may be weary, our commitment to service hasn’t faltered.
We all remember exactly where we were when we heard the news of a terrorist attack on that beautiful, clear Tuesday morning in September.
But what I can’t remember is the night before. I don’t remember September 10, 2001. Who I called. What I said. How I spoke to or treated the people I love the most. I can’t remember how I felt that night, or how I made others feel. While the rest of the world will remember 9/11 – as we all should – I seem to always spend more time reflecting about 9/10.
I’ll spend today and tonight in deep reflection — hoping that the mommies made time for one more story, the daddies had patience for one more hug. I pray that couples went to sleep holding hands instead of onto arguments or petty fights. I’ll hope that friends found words of forgiveness and that the children too busy to call their parents made time.
Today, I think of the hundreds of people who packed suitcases, briefcases, even diaper bags thinking that “tomorrow” would be just another day. Today, I’ll spend a little extra time practicing gratitude, being intentional with my children and offering more words of support, tenderness and empathy. I hope you’ll join me.
In a time of such great divisiveness of our country, let us take today to remember that we are better United. We are stronger as humans, as brothers and sisters, and as Americans, when we can find tolerance, kindness, mercy and love.
Let the heroes of 9/11 — and their unfinished stories on 9/10 — remind us that tomorrow is never “just another day.”
Tessa Robinson serves as Managing Editor for We Are The Mighty and she loves showcasing military spouse and veteran voices. Email her at email@example.com or connect with her on LinkedIn.