It hardly seems possible that 20 years has passed since this fateful, horrific day in American history.
Most people who were old enough at the time can recall where they were when the terrorists struck our country, killing more than 3,000 innocent people from 90+ different countries.
I was living a few miles north of downtown Chicago and working for a newspaper at that time.
My shift was 10-6 and I was getting ready when I caught a glimpse of a fire in one of the towers. I got out of the shower, got dressed and another plane hit. There was no doubt our nation was under attack.
Then there was reports of the Pentagon being hit, and my heart jumped. A few minutes later, my phone rang and my boss said, almost in a growl, “GET DOWNTOWN NOW.”
I drove as fast as I could to the El station and boarded the train. The atmosphere on this 20-minute ride was one of fear and disbelief. Rumors circulated about what targets might be hit in Chicago. There was a plot against the Sears Tower but no ordinary person knew it at the time.
I stepped off the train, walked down the stairs and onto the street and saw organized chaos. Employers were sending people home and it was like rush hour at mid-morning.
One federal worker sitting by the sidewalk was slowly shaking her head in disbelief and said to me, “How do you stop the enemy when they live among you?”
So as downtown emptied out I spent most of my day near the Sears Tower, trying in vain to get answers from FBI agents about the threat to Chicago.
Once the ground stop had been ordered on air traffic and the immediate threat appeared over, I was sent to O’Hare International Airport to cover a security briefing.
I had never been to O’Hare before. One of the busiest airports in the world greeted me with empty corridors and eery silence. The only activity was at bars where stranded passengers were taking in the day’s events.
The briefing was canceled. I trudged back to my car to head home.
I did not have time during the day to take much stock of what happened. I turned on my TV and as Peter Jennings talked and the images came in the sheer weight of the destruction and suffering hit me.
The hardest moment for me was about a week later, when I attended a funeral for a member of the military killed in the Pentagon attack.
As the service ended, I opened my car door and turned to take a last look at the church. The widowed mother was on the steps, kneeling down and comforting three children under 10 who would not have a father any longer. It took me a very long time to get over that but I will never forget it.
There are many other things I could say and write about this painful moment in time. But what I feel most is that I miss the country that we were in the days that followed 9/11. American flags sold out. People rallied around each other. We were proud to be the United States.
Today, the aura of police officers who were seen as heroes is being destroyed by woke politicians who fuel hated and division.
We are tearing down statues, trashing the constitution, we disrespect each other on social media, and our nation’s leaders are in a partisan death struggle.
When think about the lessons we are teaching our children, I hope and pray it does not take another 9/11 to get this country back together again — before it’s too late.
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