September 11th 2001 - Blog Posts

On September 11, 2001, the day my young life tilted towards adulthood, I remember exactly what I was doing when the Twin Towers came down.

I was having a piano lesson.

I remember it starting out like any other Tuesday morning. I know it did because I can’t remember the details of the ‘before’ because I was just a kid, and such trivial things like what I was wearing and what I had for breakfast and whether I’d gotten into a fight with my sister yet wasn’t important enough to stay in my head for more than an hour.

My sister and I took piano lessons from the same sweet little old lady who lived a few streets down from us at the time. My mother homeschooled us, so we always had the morning lessons. It was my sister’s week to start first, and my mom and I were left to wait on the old fashioned chaise lounge.

And then my teacher’s husband, who never came in during lessons, appeared. He said something to the adults, I don’t remember what. But whatever it was, it was enough for my mom to leave with him to where they had their TV set.

I can’t remember if I got my turn on the piano. I honestly don’t even remember leaving. My memory jumps from my piano teacher’s parlor to my mother sitting in front of our TV, her eyes glazed over, her posture hunched and rigid.

Because my papi wasn’t there to tell her everything would be alright.

He was in law enforcement at the time, and by the time the second tower had come down, his work had put everyone in lockdown, underground, and unable to contact anyone until the danger had passed.

I can’t remember how long it lasted, until my papi was able to come home. I can only remember my mom, sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, praying for the victims, praying for the first responders, and praying that her husband would come home.

During that whole time, we didn’t have school, we didn’t have activities, we didn’t have anything. My sister and I didn’t take advantage of all the free time. Instead, we sat in our rooms, and every once in a while, went to see if mom had moved, the signal that papi was coming home.

I say that’s the day my life tilted towards adulthood, not because I understood what was going on, but because for the first time in my life, I realized adults could be afraid too. That the people I had always looked to for stability could be shaken too. And that one day, I was going to have to be one of them.

In the last twenty years since that day, I’ve grown up. I’ve completed school, got a job, got a home of my own and got a cat. By all accounts, I’ve become an adult.

And now that I am, the understanding of what happened that day has only become worse.

My papi did come home safe. But there were so many that didn’t, or didn’t come home at all. So many people whose lives become harder after what happened that day.

My heart goes out to the victims, the regular heroes, and the people who were negatively impacted by the events and still continue to be to this day.

I don’t have the elegant words to offer hope, or the phrases to convey my sympathy to its fullest.

But I couldn’t let this day, now 20 years later, pass without saying, “I remember…”

And perhaps, remembering what happened, how it affected people, and thinking about what we learned and can do in the future, is enough.