Where were you?

I know that my presence on the blog front has been minimal...but that's another post in itself. Today is the seven year anniversary of the day the word "terrorism" made its entrance into our everyday vocabulary and proved more than the occasional blip on our radar.

This morning while honoring the victims and heroes of 9/11, I trekked back into the dark recesses of my memory. Some days I have a hard time recalling what transpired less than a few hours prior...but this I don't know that I could forget if I tried.

I was home visiting my family from my new job in Door County as the company Stage Manager. I was indulging in some much needed sleep when I was jarred from slumber by my mom's face less than two inches from mine. She calmly placed her hand on my arm and said, I think you should come downstairs and see something. The World Trade Center was just hit by a plane. Honestly, I remember being slightly annoyed, thinking, Seriously? I need sleep. Why are you waking me up because some pilot can't fly his plane? I believe it audibly translated into a grunt. She said it again, this time with some urgency.

So, I rubbed my heavy eyes and headed downstairs. My mom, dad and I were in the family room, watching footage when all of a sudden, the second tower was hit. Okay, now that's weird. One could be an accident...but two buildings? Something is not right. I didn't understand the magnitude of what was happening until that moment. The shock caught hold of my breath and held it in its white-knuckled grip. What the heck is going on? Why would someone intentionally fly a plane into a national landmark?

And then...terrorism. Wow. I had heard the word...but had never felt its impact. In the matter of silent moments, our world had changed. Life was not quite as simple anymore. I was glued to the TV watching footage, crying for people I didn't know and the state our country; a country throttled in an instant by pain, fear and disbelief.

From that point on the day seemed to move in slow motion. I called my boss in Door County to ask if we would still have a show that evening. I recall being relatively surprised that we would indeed put on a performance. I felt it was so trivial in light of the morning's events. However, being the professional I am, I packed my things and got ready to leave. I hugged my parents a little tighter and a little longer that day. I wanted so badly to shirk my responsibility and stay home with them.

I settled into my car and began my trip north. The highways were a mess with people trying to get home to their loved ones. I am sure that most people were not listening to music while bumpers kissed one another on the crowded freeway. I think we were all tuned to the same station in hopes of transferring our prayers, hope and patriotism somehow over the airwaves. As I sat in my car, listening, I tried calling a friend of mine that lived in NYC. He didn't answer because all calls going in and out of the city were not connecting due to an overload. I had seen him less than a week before this had happened and couldn't imagine if he or his wife had been hurt. It hit me really hard that he could very possibly be in this mess we called New York City. Our phones connected (finally) a few days later and both he and his wife were fine.

A trip that normally took three hours lasted over five. I was exhausted. I had cried listening to the radio coverage. I had mentally dissected the motive for such a terrible act. My brain was on overload.

My car pulled into the dusty, barren parking lot of the theatre. It was eerily silent as I walked into the theatre space. The cast and crew slowly trudged in, looking shocked and hurt. No one spoke. No one knew what to say. And how were we to put on a comedic performance without seeming disrespectful? We didn't know...so, stuck with what was comfortable and reliable.

We decided as a cast to have a candlelight vigil that evening before the performance. One of the actors said a beautiful prayer and we all shared words of hope and sorrow. It was a newer cast of people, yet our hands held tighter in the circle. We ended our vigil by hugging one another. Looking back, I realized that we were all each other had up there and therefore needed to grieve together. To pull ourselves out of the numbness and shock.

We did the show. People came, they laughed. Some of the audience members stayed afterward. I remember one woman saying thank you. I thought that was odd. She went on to explain that the two hours in the theatre were a saving grace for her. She was tired of crying. She was tired of watching the footage. She was tired of being fearful for the day. We helped her bring the tiniest sliver of life back to her day.

So, that's the long story of where I was on 9/11. What about you? It still hits me emotionally. In fact, more than I anticipated. These are the events you never hope to be able to say..."When {xyz terrible thing} happened, I was...
Yet, more and more those days seem to occur. It's just like when the Challenger blew up. I was in second grade and devastated. I remember crying and crying for Christa McAuliffe's family. How would her kids live without their mother?

It's tragedies like these that remind me to be thankful for what I have and to live every day to its fullest potential.

Many prayers for the millions of people affected by this tragedy.

Photo courtesy www.futureofthebook.org