Nicole Smith

Remembering 9/11

Growing up I always heard stories from older adults about where they were when JFK was shot. So many of them could remember the tiniest details from that day as though it just happened and not years before. I never thought I’d be one of those people who could recollect a moment so clearly. But I am, just like so many others.

9/11 is a day that none of us will ever forget.

I remember being woken up with a phone call from my boyfriend at the time, telling me that the World Trade Centers had been bombed. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and hobbled downstairs and turned on the TV. My brother was home that day and he and I sat there the entire morning, watching in stunned silence, tears falling, mouths agape, as TV anchors revealed the North Tower had not been bombed but that a plane had struck it. He and I watched the second plane hit. And in that moment I felt a part of me start to die inside.

When the towers fell I felt a change within myself. Gone was the little girl who still lived inside me and in her place was an adult.

Before that day I was still pretty naive about the world and the people in it. I never gave much thought to what was going on in other countries. I was too consumed with my life. But when those towers fell, everything changed.

In those moments I felt like the worst person on Earth.

See at that time I was pregnant with Mikala. I was about 20 weeks along, and was just starting to feel her move inside me — those first flutters that we women wait anxiously for.

The events of 9/11 made me ask myself how could I bring an innocent baby into this world and protect her when there are people on this planet who are hell bent on destroying life? I felt so helpless and scared. The last thing I wanted was something to happen to her for she was already a huge part of me.

Now here it is ten years later and I still feel that same sense of dread and heartache when I think about that day and all of the lives lost. My heart hurts for all of those who lost loved ones, for the children who lost their parents, grandparents…whose innocence was destroyed.

Over the years I’ve made attempts to watch various documentaries on that fateful day and every time I do, I get sick to my stomach just like I felt that morning and usually end up crying.

I don’t think that feeling will ever go away…for me or anyone else. It will always be a part of us. It’s been weaved into the fabric of who we are. It’s story I share with my daughter, and eventually my son, so they understand what that day meant and how it affected everyone in our country and around the world.

To those of you who lost someone that day, my thoughts are prayers are with you. *hugs*