Member-only story
Remembering That Day Twenty Years Ago
September 11th—A day of hope and fear, as a mother and as an American.
The kindergarten bus was late. I peered up at the clear blue sky and held my oldest daughter’s hand at the bus stop, trying not to appear anxious as I obsessively checked my watch. It was my turn to drive the preschool carpool and the timing couldn’t have been worse. I had an amniocentesis scheduled later that day, so I needed to move fast getting to and from the school across town. When the bus finally arrived, I sprinted home to get ready for Round 2 of my hectic morning.
Buckled in their booster chairs in the back seat, my younger daughter and her girlfriend giggled as they squirmed to break free. The drop-off-line outside the school moved slowly and just as the aides approached my car, my cell phone rang.
“Are you listening to the radio?” My neighbor’s booming voice overpowered the girls’ laughter.
“Is that my Mommy?” Her daughter squealed as she reached for the phone. “I wanna go home!”
After a few moments of chaos, I was alone in the car and finally able to talk with my neighbor as I drove home. She had just heard that a plane crashed into the World Trade Center. We reminisced about The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells and briefly questioned whether the media was playing a sick joke.
