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Five years ago today was September 11th, 2001. Unfortunately, I don't need to describe to you what happened on that fateful day. Five years ago today we as a people witnessed destruction on a scale that is, to this day, almost impossible for me to imagine.
Thousands died.
Millions ran in fear.
The world, as we understood it, changed forever.
Out of everything that happened that day -- those wretched planes hitting the towers, pictures of people jumping to their deaths -- only one thing stands out in my mind: my family.
I was at home when the towers were attacked. At first, I didn't know what had happened, until my father came into my room and told me "you should come downstairs, you need to see this." And he was right. The first tower had already collapsed, and I was just in time to witness the second tower come down.
To this day I cannot describe the horrid feeling that took over my stomach. It was a mixture of sadness, grief, anger, panic, fear, and worry. Sadness over what had transpired. Grief over not being able to do anything about it. Anger at the scum that did this. Panic over not knowing what to do. Fear that this could happen again. Worry because I knew my aunt would be there.
My aunt is an RN. She worked near the Twin Towers at the time, and we all knew that she would be on the front lines in the triage tents set up just beyond the towers. We knew she was there and we had no way of getting in touch with her. The phone circuits were overloaded, and the Internet was brought to a standstill. Luckily we were able to get in touch with our aunts family, but they still didnt know if she was alright.
Every time the television channels replayed the towers falling, a part of us died. At one point CNN reported that the collapse of tower two had caused serious damage to a triage station ... and we just about lost it. Of course, being human we still held out hope -- hope that the report was inaccurate and hope that they were able to clear out because the building came down.
Hope was our best medicine, because it got us through the day. Almost four hours after we were told that a triage station had taken massive damage the phone rang: it was our uncle, letting us know that our aunt was evacuated from triage and was on her way home.
I remember a lot about 9/11. I remember watching the planes hit, men fall to their deaths, and people fleeing in terror. I remember the panic and nausea that set in worrying over my family. I also remember the hope that we had. I remember the hope that kept us from giving up.
And today, I hope that no man, woman, or child would ever live through something like 9/11 again.
I hope.
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