Dear Editor:
Coincidentally today - or maybe not so - I found myself at a lunch with colleagues I haven't seen for several years. In fact, some of them had been on my mind quite a bit this past week as we approached the 10th anniversary of 9-11. They are who I was with for most of that day and the days following.
On 9-11, I was far from home and family, an American living in Vancouver for three years by then. My husband was travelling, and I was holding down the fort with our two sons, then five and one. I was awakened that morning around 6 a.m. by a phone call from my father-in-law. Early morning calls from family were almost always bad news - they were conscious of the three-hour time difference between us.
He wanted to know if we were home in Vancouver. I told him his son was not - he was in London. "Turn on your TV," he said.
Like many of you, I watched in disbelief - the black smoke pouring from the north tower when suddenly the second plane hit. I was still on the phone. A lot of that morning remains pretty blurry for me, but a few things I remember.
Neighbours began to phone; other family members, wanting to know where we were. I was trying to scan my brain to remember what buildings friends worked in. I got dressed for work in a fog. I couldn't reach my husband.
On the drive in, the reports began to come in of a plane that would not respond to the control tower in Cleveland. My hometown. My family lives near the airport. Very near. I remember the fog getting thicker. Other reports indicated that roughly 50 planes were unaccounted for in U.S. airspace. The third crash at the Pentagon.
I began to feel out of kilter, much like everyone on that day, but as the news reports continued I was going deeper into the fog.
When I arrived at work, a sea of faces were there to greet me. We had many internationals, but I was the only American. I remember feeling like I was in a state of shock. People asking after my family, advising me to go home, asking if there was anything they could do. I know I worked that day, not because I remember it, but because I remember returning home to a similar sea of faces - concerned neighbours, baskets of food, offers of help. I finally heard from my husband in London, another terrorist target of choice.
And then I heard from my father. A retired firefighter. A strong man, active and robustly healthy. He had gone into heart failure, 2,500 kilometres away. With travel and borders on lockdown, it was three days before I could reach him. He survived, but I'm sure it wasn't a coincidence and that the stress of those images caused his heart to give.
Those same neighbours and colleagues comforted me in the intervening days when I couldn't reach my dad, didn't know when my husband could return home and waited to hear of friends' safety. One remarked at lunch, "I was just thinking of you with all the 9-11 anniversary in the news. I still remember you being in a state of shock that day," he remarked.
"I remember it, too," I replied. I wasn't in Gander, N.L. that day. I wasn't stranded for days on end by a grounded flight. But my defining memory of that day was the care and compassion shown me by my Canadian and international colleagues, neighbours and friends that day.
Thank you, Canada.
Aileen McManamon
West Vancouver
.png;w=120;h=80;mode=crop)
