Memories of 9/11

The affects of the attacks on one student and his family

On September 11, 2001, almost 3,000 families lost one or more of their loved ones very suddenly. It’s one thing to lose a family member who has been fighting a disease for a long time or because of old age, but so many people that day lost someone they had seen just hours, or even minutes, before. My Uncle J.R. was one of those lost.

While at school, I had heard that something had happened in New York, and that something was on fire in Washington D.C.; but for an 8 year old, the most bewildering part was that everyone was going home early. By the time school ended, over half the students had left. When my mom picked me up, she told me what happened and that we didn’t know if Uncle J.R. was okay; I had never even heard of the Pentagon or the World Trade Center. As we pulled into the driveway, I saw something very out of the ordinary. My dad’s car was in the garage; he was home early. I got inside, and when I walked into my parent’s bedroom to see him, I saw a sight I had never seen before. It terrified me, and still hurts me to remember it today. My dad was sitting in a chair, hands over his eyes and sobbing, talking on the phone. We always look to our parents for support, and they never seem to back down. My own father, who I always saw as one of the toughest men I knew, looked vulnerable and defenseless. The shocking events of the day and seeing his sister in such an awful state, not knowing if her husband was coming home or not, terrified him and tore him up inside, and he wasn’t the only one.

A few days after the attacks, he had to fly to New Jersey to be with his sister, who had just lost her husband of more than 20 years, and their three children, who had just lost their father. Through special congressional permission, he flew on a plane just days after the attacks. The airport was like a military base and almost completely deserted. He flew on a plane that only had a few other people on-board, many who cried, as they were all flying because of some connection to the attacks, and all were unsure if they would even land.

My dad soon arrived at his sister’s house. They had all been waiting for that one phone call to come through, the one phone call where they hear him say “I’m okay.” For almost 3,000 families, mine included, that call never came.

While there, he found his dad, my grandfather, sitting on the couch, saying, “I don’t know what to do.” One can only handle so much, and for him, it was too much. Here was an 80-year-old man who had lived through the Great Depression, fought in World War II, raised a family, ran a restaurant in Brooklyn and had lived through the rest of the 20th century, now unable to do anything. For my dad, to see his father so distraught was as heart-wrenching as it was for me to see my dad in such a horrendous state.

As an eight-year-old, I just didn’t understand what was going on, but the one sight I did understand was my family was in a state of shock and sadness by the day’s events. To know now that every time I see my aunt, she has dealt with a loss that is simply unimaginable to me breaks my heart. To see that day’s horror over and over on TV, and not fully understand the magnitude of what is going on has a great effect on an innocent kid. As I grew older, I started to understand more, but the one thing I will never understand is the pain that my aunt and her three kids went through. For two days they held out hope that they would find him, but they never did. For days afterward, her kids had nightmares of finding him in the rubble. It’s a horrific thing to hear, knowing that my cousins, who I know and love, are dreaming like that.

But, perhaps what was best is that everyone has tried to move on. I went back to school like always, and everyone in my family soon went back to their daily lives as well. When tragedy strikes, most people don’t have the luxury of rolling into a ball for a few months. One has a responsibility to move on and go back to routine, which can be very therapeutic.

Today, my aunt is happily engaged and her kids are grown up and living on their own. I did not know my Uncle J.R. very well, but, as I would later find out, he and I had a good amount of common interests. He loved history, as do I; he loved to read, as I do; and he was a huge fan of The Who, a band I am a fan of as well. I now imagine us having debates over who is better: The Who, or my favorite band, The Beatles. But, because of the terrible attacks, this can never be.

To see my family, that I love with all my heart, so distraught is one of the most painful sights I have ever seen; but we, as a family and as a nation, came out stronger than ever. The stars and stripes still flew, heroes gave up their lives to save others, and on that day, America truly became united. The passengers on Flight 93 gave the ultimate sacrifice for people they will never meet. Ordinary people on the streets of New York went back into the burning buildings to save others. The terrorists did not succeed in demoralizing our country: my family stuck together, the nation came together, and today, ten years later, we all try and live our lives the best we can, every day.

This personal narrative is dedicated to my Uncle J.R., and to all those who died on that day.

Posted by BenedictEsposito on Sep 8 2011. Filed under Features. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.