Some years, I haven鈥檛 wanted to remember. As the posts started to fill social media on Sept. 10, I would find myself resisting, wanting the next day to be like any other day. I didn鈥檛 want the wave of memories.
But as I would watch my son say his prayers and hold him as he fell asleep, I knew I had to remember. I had to one day share those memories with him and make sure he understands the importance of Sept. 11, and of Sept. 12.
We all have our stories. For me, that day started like so many in D.C. I was working as the communications director for Sen. Chuck Hagel and he had a breakfast meeting with his D.C. steering committee. During the breakfast, another aide and I got messages on our pagers from the office -- a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I remember writing him a note, 鈥渆rrant Cessna?鈥
The second page came shortly after, and I went to the bar at the restaurant. As I saw the images of the planes hitting both towers, I knew something was horribly wrong. I walked back into the breakfast and told everyone gathered that two planes had hit the World Trade Center. To this day, I come across people who tell me they will never forget the look on my face when I said those words.
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As we all walked into the restaurant bar, the TV鈥檚 suddenly went to a split screen; showing plumes of smoke over the buildings of downtown D.C. We didn鈥檛 know what had been hit, but instantaneously we knew -- our nation, and now our city, was under attack.
Ironically, no one panicked. I went back to the office with Hagel, and we encouraged the staff to stay put. I remembering telling someone that surely the Air Force had scrambled fighter planes and this was now probably the safest place in the country. Only later would we learn the intended path of Flight 93 was likely the shining Capitol dome across the street.
We were in the office as we watched the towers collapse. And shortly after, Capitol Hill police evacuated the building. But no one knew where to go. Information was spotty, cellphone service impossible and there were rumors that the D.C. police had closed the bridges into Virginia. So we stood in the park. I will forever remember the image of Hagel, Chuck Grassley and another senator huddled over a transistor radio. Three U.S. senators grasping whatever news they could glean.
Once the cellphone frequencies opened up, my phone started to ring with reporters wanting to see if Hagel could do interviews. The first was with Bob Schieffer of CBS, standing atop a building a block from the White House. I don鈥檛 think I heard a word of what Hagel said. I couldn鈥檛 take my eyes off of the flames pouring out of the Pentagon.
Hagel鈥檚 last interview concluded after the sun had set, and I called my parents in Kearney as I was driving home across the 14th Street bridge. My father later wrote that I said, 鈥淒ad, I never thought I would utter these words in America, 鈥榯he Pentagon is burning.鈥欌
In the weeks that followed, D.C. felt like a city under siege. The sound of helicopters patrolling the skies was omnipresent, as was a massive security presence.
The fact that we鈥檝e not seen another mass terrorist attack is not an accident. It鈥檚 the result of the men and women of our armed forces, our intelligence communities, law enforcement and others -- those who put country first every day. We all owe them a debt of gratitude. And many Americans likely live blissfully ignorant that they owe them their lives.
But one of my clearest memories of that time was the morning of Sept. 12. This is what I wrote to family and friends that day.
鈥淚 had the most surreal ride into work this morning. I came into D.C. early because Hagel was doing an interview on one of the morning shows. The sun was just coming up as I drove past the Pentagon; the smoke was still billowing out of it.
"As I drove to the studio, I passed one of the street musicians who play for money on the sidewalk. He had a little American flag in his music case and was playing 鈥楪od Bless America鈥 on his trumpet.
"After the interview, I wove through the deserted streets and roadblocks to get to my parking place. I got out of the car and heard what few Americans heard this morning -- the sound of planes overhead. You could hear the fighter jets taking off from Andrews Air Force Base and there were military helicopters circling over the Capitol. Then, a song pierced through -- another street musician down by Union Station was playing the national anthem. It was all completely surreal.
"I'm seeing now on CNN that Americans are standing in lines to donate blood. And I'm sure churches will be full again today. America will rally together, as we always have. These terrorists may have struck us hard, but they will never dampen the American spirit.鈥
As I read those words 20 years later, those musicians struck the first note for what I witnessed across our country in the days to follow. As the first responders dug through the rubble, we reached out to one another to start to heal the collective gash in our national soul. The pain of our grief brought forth the realization that far more unites us than divides us.
Today it feels as if we have another collective gash in our national soul, one borne of unraveling than of sudden attack. A divide of rancor and distrust of those on the other side. The vitriol we hurl at each other has to make the terrorists sit back and laugh.
One day, when my son is old enough, I鈥檒l take him to the site of the towers and to the Pentagon and talk to him about what happened on that horrific day. And then I鈥檒l talk to him more about the days that followed and what it was like to come together, to feel bound as one as Americans. And tell him that鈥檚 what we must forever cherish.
Because that鈥檚 what the terrorists sought to destroy -- our hope, our belief, our uniquely American spirit. We cannot let them succeed. We best honor those who lost their lives on Sept. 11, and protect the generations to come, by never forgetting Sept. 12.
Deb Fiddelke
Lincoln