As I write this week’s Unorganized Territory, I can’t help thinking about the landmark anniversary our nation is facing. The publication of this issue of the Cook County News- Herald is September 10. Just one day before the tenth anniversary of 9/11.
The significance of the day will never be lost, but this year the heartbreak of that fated day when nearly 3,000 people lost their lives was magnified for me for two reasons. First, like so many other Americans, I’ve been inundated by news about the tenth anniversary of 9/11. Nearly every magazine on the newsstands has interviews with people who survived the attacks on the Twin Towers in New York or the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. or who responded to the downed plane in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. People magazine has a heartrending feature story about the children of 9/11—a follow-up story on a dozen children who were infants or toddlers or who were not yet born when a parent was killed in the attack.
Unlike those survivors, those of us who live on the North Shore aren’t confronted with the remains of the attack and the memorials for those lost every day. We aren’t faced with the empty space at the table every day. It is just now, as September 11 rolls around again, that we are forced to think about the horrific event, to relive that painful day. It once again makes me realize how very lucky we are in our little corner of the world to live surrounded by woods and water and blessed peace.
The other reason this 9/11 anniversary hits hard is because I spent some time on planes and in airports last week. A number of Minnesota family members—my husband Chuck and I, my parents, my son Gideon, his wife Sara and three little girls and my cousin and her friend—all flew to Seattle for a family wedding. We almost all flew separately to this joyful occasion, so it was a bit nerve-wracking. I am happy to report that the wedding was wonderful and all the relatives are back safe and sound on the ground in Minnesota. The bride and groom are expected back from their Dominican Republic honeymoon by the time this paper goes to print. Congratulations Rick and Terry!
All this flying brought home how transportation has changed since 9/11. It adds to the stress of flying— where do I find a three-ounce bottle of my favorite shampoo? Which shoes are easiest to take off in the security line? Can I take my fingernail clippers? Would I rather have a body scan—or a pat down?
But more than that, having so many family members flying in different directions—some of us flew from Duluth to Minneapolis to Seattle; others from Minneapolis to Phoenix to Seattle—and seeing all those flight numbers and itineraries made the names of those on American Airlines Flight 11, United Airlines Flight 175, American Airlines Flight 77 and United Airlines Flight 93 more real.
On those four planes were people like my family and yours—moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas, little children, newlyweds. Excited about heading to the beach somewhere. Happy at the thought of seeing far-away friends and family. Or returning from vacation with carry-on bags filled with souvenirs that were never delivered. So many families were shattered that day. So many hearts broken.
The 9/11 anniversary was not far from my thoughts as I made travel plans and talked to family members about Delta Flight 2519 and other connections. The fear of a tragedy was there as I said goodbye to each one. The hug that accompanied my “See you on the ground” was just a little bit tighter. I think we were all a bit more diligent about calling or texting to say we’ve landed safely. I don’t think anyone takes flying as lightly as they did before 9/11.
But along with my nervousness about flying is my stubborn determination that I’m not going to let the hatred that fueled the attack win out over the goodness of the American people. Along with the painful memories of the crashing planes and burning buildings is the memory of how we as a nation came together in the days, weeks, and months following 9/11.
I’ve written a few columns about 9/11—an agonizing one immediately after the event in 2001 and one nearly every September since then. In all of them, I’ve said the best tribute to those lost—the firefighters and police, the office workers, the pilots and flight attendants, the travelers—is to continue to live our own lives in the best way possible. Volunteer with a charitable organization. Pick up trash along the side of the road. Fly the flag. Give blood. Smile at strangers. Spend time with your kids, grandkids, cousins, aunts and uncles—even if it means flying when you’re a little bit afraid.
The most difficult thing of all—
yet the most essential—
is to love life, even when you suffer,
because life is all.
Leo Tolstoy
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