How Sept. 11 Changed Us

This Sunday marks the 10th anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the United States. It also marks the 10th anniversary of the death of my friend Herb, who died on United Airlines Flight 175.

My friend perfectly captured what I think is everyone else's collective experience of that morning. What a perfect day it was: sunny, warm, not humid, a light breeze and not a cloud to be seen in the sky.  That Tuesday was my first day back at work after being off because my beloved grandfather (Bubba) had been suddenly stricken ill and lapsed into a coma. That week was a blur of picking up family members at various airports, making sleeping arrangements for everyone, moving to my friend Ginny's house, so that out of town family could all stay at my apartment. We visited my grandfather in his hospital room, and at first there was hope when he responded to the sound of specific voices. Then there was no hope when the doctors said he had taken a turn for the worse and would never come out of the coma.

We met as a family and made the decision we knew Bubba would have supported, to disconnect life support, and 24 hours later he died. Then came the whirlwind of planning his service, choosing hymns and Scripture lessons, arranging for food and flowers, making return airline reservations. I am the type of person who holds myself together to concentrate on what needs to be done and I was too busy to stop and think.

I share this story with you because Bubba died on Sept. 5, 2001, and his memorial service was held on Sept. 8, 2001. My friend Herb and his wife, Karen, came to the service to give me comfort and support, and they commented to each other, in the way that we all do at these things when we hear a reading or sing a hymn that moves us, on how much they liked the piece I chose to read and told each other, when the time came, to remember that piece. 

I didn't know this at the time, I learned it when I sat in my own church at Herb's memorial service and heard someone else read it. That was when I lost it. Life is too short and too precious to be taken for granted. That was the first lesson Sept. 11 taught us all.

We all lost something on Sept. 11. Some of us lost friends, family members, colleagues, acquaintances. All of us lost the sense of being absolutely safe on American soil and the confidence that accompanies that feeling of security. The grief I feel will never go away, it ebbs and flows, and I mourn my grandfather, my friend Herb and the innocence of my country.

What I celebrate is the aftermath of Sept. 11: strangers reaching out to one another to hand out bottles of water to people covered in dust and debris, to help a dazed and injured person to safety, acts of heroism by the first responders and those who rushed to the scene and stayed there for days, and people who loaded up trucks with supplies and drove them to New York. I celebrate the people who took it upon themselves to see to it that permanent monuments to Sept. 11 were built and are being dedicated in Mendon and Foxborough this weekend.

I celebrate Americans understanding that we are members of a community and we need to look out for each other. Sept. 11 is a National Day of Service. Think of a kindness, small, medium, or large, that you can do for someone, and do it. Do it to honor those who died and do it to remind yourself that you are part of a community that cares about you.

God Bless America.