Five Years Later - Remembering 9-11

September 11, 2001, Bergen County, NJ before the first tower was hit:

I walked with my son, then in second grade, to a school function at the nearby college which featured the NJ Knicks basketball team. Pictures were to be taken, and I was looking forward to seeing him in the local newspaper. It was a beautiful day, the sky was a deep blue, with not a cloud in sight. Ten miles from Manhattan, in suburban NJ, it was peaceful, calm - just a fabulous morning. I remember thinking how my son would long remember meeting the local sports heroes. He was smiling and happy, I was happy for him. Work beckoned though - I left him with his class, to enjoy the day.

While walking home from that Norman Rockwellesque scene, to call a taxi, I saw a plane flying abnormally low in the sky. I was alarmed, but I brushed off the thought as I hurried home. Twenty minutes later, the taxi arrived and I entered the cab. The driver was one I knew, so it wasn’t odd that he asked me if I had heard the news. “What news?”, I thought. His next sentence was like a blow to the chest : “A plane has hit the World Trade Center.”

The First Tower is Hit

A plane had hit the World Trade Center. “Oh God”, I thought, “could it have been that plane? The huge jet, flying low, too low?”. I was immediately worried about my family - we lived so close to Manhattan, what if we were next? What if this was the beginning of a full-scale war? I then worried what I would find at work. I was employed as a staff physician at a county jail, what did the inmates know? Surely the jail would be in lock down.

When I arrived at the jail, the mood was somber. All that was known at reception was that the WTC had been hit, no details. I walked into the infirmary, and the news had just made it there. Of course, I was concerned about the safety of those incarcerated, that was my job; and I was certainly concerned for my coworkers, especially the nurses. Doctors, we worked in the infirmary, the nurses had to work amongst the inmate population. Would they be safe?

And my family. Oh God, were they okay? I called my husband, the other Dr. Wooton. He just started in a new office practice, a practice that had, among its clients, many who worked in the Manhattan area. His staff took turns monitoring the press coverage. He was okay, he informed me that the nearby hospital was on standby, in the event that NYC hospitals were overwhelmed with casualties from what would be known as Ground Zero.

A little after ten a.m., I called my children’s school. The second grade class had returned. I was told that the children were not made aware of the WTC, and that they were going through the emergency contacts to determine which parents worked in Manhattan. I wanted to pick up my children, I was told that they were encouraging parents to pick up there children, in the event there was a child whose parent worked at the WTC. Just in case. I thought of all the children who could potentially be left without a parent, or both parents. I wished the school secretary who fielded the call a safe day. I didn’t know what else to say.

My boss generously granted my request to gather my children, as the jail was placed in lock down, effectively canceling the scheduled infirmary appointments. As I wished my colleagues a safe day, my mind was already racing. My children were nine and seven years old. How could I tell them about such devastating news? During the taxi ride home, I wrestled with the words I would use. Nothing seemed appropriate. I feared my relief at seeing them would result in tears, scaring them even more.

Telling the news to my children - enter the media

A late morning pickup, the second week of school - there was nothing normal about that. My children knew something bad had happened before I arrived to get them. As we walked home, it was eerily quiet. By this time, all air traffic had ceased. Every step we took was audible, and jarring. I told my children that their Dad would be home soon, and that we would talk to them about their early dismissal as soon as he got home.

When my husband did arrive, we did something that I would come to regret. In an attempt to tell them what happened, we turned on the television news. The planes hitting the WTC, the towers tumbling - by the time we were all home, the second tower was tumbling as we watched, no warning. The children saw the graphic images, and were visibly shaken. I turned off the coverage, only to turn in back on when my husband told me the Pentagon had been hit, and a fourth plane had gone down in Pennsylvania.

They had seen the news, they knew how close we lived to the WTC, and they were alarmed. In the weeks prior to the devastation, my son had been pleading to go there. My son was very upset, and when he asked if we were going to be attacked next, I didn’t know what to say. I told him that no planes would be flying until the government determined the skies were safe. I prayed he couldn’t see my fear. My daughter saw it, felt it, and shared it. Soon , it was announced that the bombings were a series of terrorist attacks. That was too much for such young children - the TV went off again, and I would not turn it back on. From then on, I relied on the internet for news, a reliance that lives to this day.

The day drags into evening - feeling the terror

When you live near two large airports, the sound of overhead planes becomes part of the background noise. When air traffic ceased that devastating day, the silence was deafening. The weather was still beautiful, the silence conveyed an unnatural stillness that just wasn’t normal for suburban NJ. I was expecting a phone call from my husband, stating the hospital was in a state of emergency - it never happened. Surely there must be wounded, why weren’t they arriving? A sense of dread worsened with each passing hour.

The silence was shattered with the arrival of military helicopters. We not only heard them, we felt them, they made the house vibrate. They began flying over the area late in the afternoon; it would be at least two days before they ceased. Yet, the absence of commercial air traffic was still felt. It was such a part of the background that without the noise, it was hard to sleep. My husband and I did not make the kids return to their beds, when they came to our room, unable to sleep.

The aftermath

After it was revealed that terrorists cells linked to al-Qaida were found in Bergen County, my belief in the safety of my home was shattered. Reports of anthrax being spread via the US postal service, some originating from a post office in southern NJ, that was horrifying. Random citizens contracting anthrax from their mail - biological warfare was no longer the stuff of science fiction, this was fact! Physicians were given education modules via the Center of Disease Control to treat presumptive anthrax, husband and I completed them, fearing that we would need to use them, soon.

My children were deeply affected. My daughter, at her young age, wrote essays and poems about a landmark she would never see, my son drew pictures of planes hitting the towers long after the press died down. I worried, about my family’s safety, about copycat attacks, about the security of the jail, and about the threat of widespread contagion from anthrax. And the skyline - it was scarred. Smoke billowed from Ground Zero for days after the attack. I saw it every day as I went into work. I wondered if life would ever return to normal.

Yet through it all, the American spirit prevailed. Neighborhoods, communities, and indeed, the nation, rallied around those affected by the horror that was 9-11. We became stronger. We lost a sense of complacency. We saw past that which had divided us. We were AMERICANS, and we would not be defeated. And my children felt the pride of being American, even in frightening times.

Five years later

Five years later, Osama bin Laden is still at large. Ground Zero is yet undeveloped. War rages in Iraq, in the name of “fighting terrorism”. I am not sure how Iraq figures into 9-11, but I do feel strongly that our troops fighting abroad should be honored for the service to our nation. Regardless of my political affiliation, I am forever grateful that they have chosen to put their lives on the line to preserve our freedom, and our lives.

My children have recovered from the emotional trauma. My son is concerned about wildlife conservation, my daughter has varied interests, especially in the area of international relations. Both realize that there are measures in place to thwart a repeat 9-11 scenario.

And my husband and I? How are we, five years later? We marveled at the lovely weather we are having today. We shared a few thoughts regarding that horrible day, five years ago. And we decided there will be no viewing any of the many 9-11 commemorations, no listening to radio anniversary coverage. We will never again be the complacent people we were. At any moment, NYC could become a war zone. We would be among the wounded. We have learned to tell our children we love them, and mean it. We have learned that they will never be too old to hug, to comfort, and to worry about. And we have learned that in the end, our family is all we really have.

Hug your loved ones extra tight tonight. And remember, in your own fashion, how your life has been affected.

© 2006 Kathleen M. Wooton, M.D.