9.11.01. The Pentagon.

(This is a re-post of a blogpost I wrote two years ago.  In Remembrance.)

On September 11, 2001, I was almost 10 months pregnant, overdue with my 2nd child, living in a townhome in Alexandria, Virginia.  I knew my time with having my little 22-month-old girl all to myself would be coming to an end soon.  That morning, I set about to enjoy our day.  It was so beautiful outside.  Early on, after breakfast, I set up play things on our back deck.  Water, pots, pans, spoons, ladles.  You know, pretty much what you need to keep a 22-month-old entertained.  Our TV was off.  Our stereo was off.  My in-laws were visiting knowing that the baby would be showing up any day now and wanting to help in any way possible.  My husband set off for work, his building across the street from the White House.  My father-in-law also took off for work — he had a meeting at the State Department that morning.  Life was normal and untouched.

I headed upstairs to shower while my mother-in-law played with my daughter.  Upon coming downstairs, hair still dripping, belly over-protruding and stretching the limits of my black T, I joined my daughter and mother-in-law outside.  We squinted from the sun, laughed with the joy of a toddler, filled with expectations for the new little girl coming soon to join her.

It was then that we heard it.  The most incredible boom.  It was undeniably bad.  Nothing good would come from that noise.  An explosion.  Something.  After questioning each other with our eyes for a few minutes, the TV had to come on.  And then we saw.  Oh, the horror of it all.  The Pentagon.  The Twin Towers. Eventually United 93 in a field in Pennsylvania.  The day proceeded for us in a blur.  Unable to reach either my husband or my father-in-law for hours.  Cell phone reception at a halt.  Reports of truck bombings.  Sitings of more planes aiming for DC.  Not knowing.  And then knowing everything.  Our world had changed.  And I am about to bring a child smack dab right into the middle of it.

My contractions started about 10 pm that night.  I knew this was “it” as I was already over-due.  We called our hospital in DC to make sure they were accepting patients and not just casualties.

We left for the hospital first thing in the morning.  No one slept much the night before, not in our house, not in our city, not in our country, not in our world.  In order to get to the hospital, we had to drive by the Pentagon.

The building was still on fire.  People were still working, recovery, hoping to save lives.  We were on our way to have a baby.  It was the ultimate in the circle of life and death.  I felt the circle enveloping us as we drove slowly by, tears in our eyes, contractions ripping through me, trying to move towards joy and away from this site seared into our hearts.

I share this with you because it leads me to this.  About a month ago, I had some time to myself and was out tooling around with my camera.  And though I’m very familiar with the roads around the Pentagon, I somehow got turned around and ended up at the Pentagon Memorial without meaning to.  It was a quiet morning, and I was the only one around.  Here, I reflected.

The memorial is arranged with 184 benches, one for each of the victims.  59 benches represent the victims on board American Airlines flight 77, and 125 benches represent the victims killed within the Pentagon.  When looking towards the Pentagon, it is those benches with the names of those killed at the Pentagon which you can read.  Conversely, while facing away from the Pentagon, towards the sky, the names of those on board American Airlines flight 77 face you.

On the plane, an entire family perished.  The Falkenbergs.  Mom (Leslie), Dad (Charles), Zoe (8) and Dana (3).  I came to their bench first, as the benches are arranged youngest (Dana at age 3) to oldest (John Yamnicky, age 71).  Here is Dana’s bench.  Her family’s names rest with her.  Someone had visited recently.  I am glad those children had their parents nearby to comfort.  I am glad that husband and wife had each other at that moment.  So many didn’t.  So many calls were made from the Twin Towers or from United Flight 93 to loved ones.  Calls were made, prayers were said.  Many made a choice of dying on their own terms.  I can’t imagine that choice.  I look at this marker and am glad the Falkenbergs had each other at that moment.

I write about the Pentagon because it is what I know, it is what we lived.  Take time today to pray for all the September 11th lost loved ones and survivors.  Families have continued in the most difficult of circumstances.  Because that is what families do.  Continue.

Continue.

It was a day just like this one, just like any other.