My wife always wondered why I was up then.
I was three months into a new job, living in Half Moon Bay, California. And for some reason, on that day, I did things I didn’t do on other days. For some reason, I awoke at 5 AM. False dawn was leaning in the windows. I went downstairs. I turned on the television. Settling myself on the sofa, I turned on CNN.
All those things are contrary to my usual routines. I rarely watch TV before 6 PM, and don’t typically watch CNN. But there I was, lying on the couch, watching history. The first aircraft had struck one building. I realized the second plane had struck before the commentators as I watched the live feed.
My wife asks me, “Why were you up? Why did you turn on the television, and CNN? That’s totally unlike you.”
And I answer honestly, what I thought that morning, before turning on the television. “I didn’t feel well.”
I didn’t feel well, but I wasn’t sick. I couldn’t identify what drove me awake and down. I can’t classify my sickness to this day. Some will jump on it and call it out as a psychic empathy for the death and disaster happening on the other side of the US. Others will judge it as coincidence.
For me, it’s just a vivid memory of a shocking day.
Michael Seidel, writer 
Thanks for your memories of that day…it is still a shocking day, and a day I will never forget, either.
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Reblogged this on nbsmithblog…random digressions and musings and commented:
These are Michael’s remembrances of the day. Mine were a bit different, but it was no less shocking.
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Thanks, nan!
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I too vividly remember that day. I was a sophomore at a southern military academy, sitting in history class when someone came in and said the first plane had hit. Everyone speculated that it was an accident and history class resumed, blissfully unware of the changes this would bring for the Cadet Corps. It was Tuesday, so we left academia for a practice parade, a twice a week endeavor that sucked every single time. As a piper in the band, I went into the band hall to get ready and the band directors were watching the news on a small portable television. It had been a terrorist attacks, the coverage was wall to wall, and we were suddenly angry. In the days and weeks that followed the military recruiters, the national guard offices and the like were flooded with cadets lining up to serve, arguably one of the institutes shining moments. The rest, as they say, is history…. but it changed the course of my life. I often wonder where I’d be, who I’d be, were it not for that day. Like my entire generation, I was shaped by the war that followed.. sent to war by a nation that was in turmoil, full of political unrest and discarded the moment I got hurt. All was not lost, however, because I found my inner writer after I was injured and cast adrift by an ungrateful nation.
Did you find that that day changed you as well?
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No, the day did not change me. Each generation faces significant emotional episodes that shape them. (Morris Massey explains this brilliantly, IMO.) By 9/11, retired from the military, I’d already faced days that changed us in the assassinations of MLK and the Kennedys, the Vietnam war, Panama, the first Gulf War, and the disintegration of the USSR. We had a lot of turmoil, war and change. 9/11 provided more depths to reflect upon, including your points, and the speculation about how it would change our nation and its youth. Thanks, JR. Cheers
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An interesting perspective, given what you’d already seen. Thanks for the prompt reply! 🙂 Normally I wouldn’t so freely talk about the rest of it… but a beer or two later, and somehow the words poured out. Anyway, hopefully today you were able to reflect on what’s important and cherish your family and loved ones. I know I did.
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I hear you, JR. I reflected on this later with a few sips of wine, and thought of friends lost in other conflicts, some of which were part of black ops and were kept closehold.
But one story shadows me more than others. I’d been stationed with a Major in Germany when Desert Shield initiated. We both rotated out before Desert Storm commenced. I went to Space Command and he went to his dream assignment, AC130 gunships with the first special ops wing out of Florida. They were sent to the sandbox to do what they’re supposed to do. But right as he was to board his aircraft for their first combat mission, literally, with his foot on the ladder, the DO drove up and told him he couldn’t go. His newborn daughter was going in for open heart surgery. So many vectors of duty, responsibility and love tore at him but he left for home and the gunship went on its flight. By the time he landed in Torrejon for a fuel stop on the way back to the states, his gunship, tail number 96567, had been shot down, all 14 onboard KIA.
Survivor guilt seized him. Never the same after that, he drunk chatted with me through many nights. Finally, from his tone and statements, I called his commander to warn that my friend needed to be put on suicide watch.
And yes, with each loss, or even reflections of each loss, I cherish what’s important anew. Cheers, mon ami.
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Wow, my heart breaks for that officer and I don’t even know him. Yes, loss can be heard and survivors guilt is a bitch. I hope he got the help he needed so he could be there for his daughter, who should be a young woman by now.
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Yeah, I searched for him last night and this morning. We’ve lost touch and I wonder….
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That always stinks, but we can be there for him in spirit if nothing else. And help other veterans in crisis in his honor, be he living or dead.
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Reblogged this on Michael Seidel, writer and commented:
My memory of 9/11/2001. We watched television all day, looking for updates, watching the other attacks, and waiting for more attacks. Later in the week, spinning and misinformation began. We became very familiar with the name Osama Bin Laden and the group called Al Qaida.
Most believed the attacks of 9/11 were going to end up with America going to war. The Bush administration seemed giddy about the prospect. We didn’t know how much war would result. The wars continue. I can’t see the end game to it. Lives have been lost and destroyed. People have been maimed and injured. The attacks of 9/11 and our response still split our definition of what America is, and strives to be. Since 9/11, we’ve spiraled into fear. The fear is often stoked to manipulate voters, priorities, and patriotism.
President Bush started the wars. Some will argue OBL started it; some will argue it began with the first Persian Gulf War. Others will point to its origins as the period when the CIA armed and trained OBL and his followers in their battle against the Soviets. Others will say it began when the Brits carved up the middle east after World War I. Whenever it began, President Obama failed to end it; I have doubts that President Trump will succeed. I doubt his interest in ending it.
It’s a sad part of our history of secrets, revenge, and power.
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I too was starting a new job and I’ll always remember where I was at 9 a.m. that Tuesday, September the 11th: Running through a cemetery. That cemetery was the most beautiful place to run outside in all of Springfield, Oh, where I was living at the time. I often ran there in the mornings–before faculty meetings at noon and the day was absolutely lovely–perfect skies–warm weather. As I’d run, I’d pray for people who asked me to, but that day, I didn’t have anyone in particular in mind. I just said in my head, “This is for anyone anywhere in the world who might need this prayer now.” I had no idea–until I went home and turned on the news.
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That’s beautiful. Thanks for sharing.
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