Hot House Momma

July 27, 2006

we shall remember

I remember the day well. This day we were all vunerable. Insecure and dishearten, scared and running with high adrenalin.

My day started like any other day I had spent the night at my now husbands
house. At the time, he was living in the dark abyss also know as the Sunset in San Francisco. They do get a few sunny days during the year. Hubby's alarm sounded to the morning commentary of 104.5. If you ever listen to this radio feed you know that they usually joke around and are almost never serious.

On this particular morning they mentioned a report that had not been confirmed of an airplane, now known to be American Airlines Flight 11, carrying 81 passengers and 11 crew members, which slammed into the north tower of the World Trade Center in Manhattan shortly before 9 a.m. Both myself and hubby were still wiping the sand out of our eyes and trying to figure out how this could happen, if in fact it was truth.

I hop into my car and make my way over the Bay bridge on my way back home to shower and start my day to work. The radio is still not confirming reports of this airplane crash. I park my car and walk up the stairs to my flat in Alameda. It was a sunny beautiful day and it happened to be my thirtieth birthday. A day that I was excited for. My friends and I had big plans to go out over the weekend to celebrate. I tuned into the local news. At this time, about 15 minutes, later they are showing pictures of the second plane, now known to be , United Airlines Flight 175 from Boston to Los Angeles, with 56 passengers and nine crew members on board, crashing into the south tower pumling into the World Trade Center. Words can describe the photos of this vicious attack.

At this time I could feel my heart beating outside of my chest. What is going on? I want my mommy. Unreal. I promptly pick up the phone to call one of my friends. Generally she would already be up for work but on this morning she was still sleeping.

I tell her to turn on the news that something is going on and it's not good. That was about all that I could communicate. I was in awe. People are dying. Downtown New York is on fire. WAKE UP! I don't want to be alone.

I slowly get ready for work with one eye glued on the TV.

Walk down stairs and return to my car. I start on my 30 minute journey to work and the roads are baron.

I park my car and walk into my office. Everyone is milling about, no one is able to focus on work and unsure what to do. Nervous energy.

The girls that stuck around the office, took me out to lunch for my birthday, as we originally planned.

I think a lot of us felt that if we continued with our normal routine that the terrorist attacks would not be as serious and we all knew they were.

We went to PF Changs for lunch. The restaurant was bare.

The friend that I had called earlier was working in SF at the time. There were no direct routes into the city. As we learned more information it became a little more clear what was going on. The US had been attacked.

My friend's boyfriend was Afghan. How was he feeling? These were his people. He was not one of them.

How could this be happening?

I think on this day, we all collectively, aside of race-gender,felt the same pain. This is why I have signed up to remember Michael Trinidad on September 11.
I only hope that I can do justice to this mans name, I have done some research on google and come up with some information. I plan to make my official tribute on September 11.

If you are a reader with a blog. Take 5 minutes out of your day and click here and sign up.

You input your email and blog site and they automatically assign you the name of a victim. This is something that our children will read about in history books.

I know that most of us don't like to relive this day or talk about it, but if one of their family member reads a dedication-they will know that the memory of their loved one still lives on. To date blogger are at 33 percent of the goal. Please be a part of this. It will make us all feel better to take part in touching someone's life.

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