September 11th

So, I typically write about math. Teaching math. Helping students with math. Creating a community of learners in a math class. Recreational math. And I’ll start writing about math tomorrow. But today is different – the 10th anniversary of 9/11.

Like many people, I remember where I was. I remember the confusion I felt when I saw the fire in the first tower. I remember the gut punch I felt when we saw Flight 175 fly into the South Tower. I remember hearing Jim Miklaszewski reporting that he felt something at the Pentagon. I remember watching both towers fall, and the clouds of smoke & dust. I remember watching people evacuating the White House and the Capitol. I remember hearing about Flight 93 crashing in western Pennsylvania. I remember trying not to cry, I didn’t want to scare my children. I remember being scared, and crying on the inside.

But when I think about September 11th, I will always think back to a warm August day in 2010. I was vacationing in New York City with my family, and we had spent the morning at Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. There are few places that one can feel more like an American than at those two places. We then made our way over to Ground Zero, and all the memories came floating back. The scarred earth. The first responders. We looked at the construction – hope rising from the rubble.

We had decided to visit the Tribute WTC Visitor Center. We saw a short movie, and walked through a gallery that displayed the timeline of that day. We saw objects pulled from the wreckage – stuffed animals, fire helmets, and posters searching for lost loved ones. Then I turned the corner into a gallery filled with photos of those people who lost their lives that day. An older woman was pointing with a laser pointer to individuals, telling their stories. She then pointed to a young policeman and said “And that was my son.” She said in matter-of-factly. I turned away in an attempt to hold back my tears. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to cry, but I didn’t want to cry in front of her. She had been through so much, I didn’t want to spark anything. After a few seconds I got it back together and listened to the story of her son’s day. Of his life. Of her life afterwards.

So today, that woman from the tribute center is on my mind. And her son. And that is what I will always think of first when I think of 9/11 – those two brave souls.