There is no such thing in anyone's life as an unimportant day.
— Alexander Woollcott
Monday, Sept. 10, 2001, was business as usual. On Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2001, I was in shock. What a difference a day makes. I couldn't believe the news. And now, 10 years later, I remember.
I remember the call from a friend notifying me of the news as I sat in my office on the 13th floor of the GMAC Insurance building. We were scrambling to make sense of it all and sending all employees home at the same time.
I had a column due that day to the Winston-Salem Chronicle and wrote it as I sat at my desk amid all the chaos, uncertainty and confusion. I finished it and like everyone else was glued to the tube to watch the news.
I remember the images of the Twin Towers crashing down to the ground, producing apocalyptic-looking clouds of smoke as people screamed, running for their lives, while others watched in horror; some died while others survived.
I remember going to church that night as people flocked to services to make sense of the unthinkable. A single event had provided a common thread that connected the world in an instant.
I was overwhelmed as I heard testimonies from members of my church talk about family members in New York and Washington who were in harm's way but survived. I cried at the altar as I listened to their stories, held hands and prayed with my sister, Gloria. She had been scheduled to be in the World Trade Center that day on business.
I remember interviewing author Ken Greene about life before, during and after the World Trade Center walls came tumbling down. He wrote about his experience in his book, "When the Walls Came Down."
"A lot changed that day," he said. "If only for a brief moment, the walls of prejudice, ignorance, and division came down. As we helped each other, no one cared about race, color or religion. We were simply people doing everything we could to assist one another through an unimaginable crisis."
I remember Greene discussing how he was behind schedule leaving for work that day and didn't do the usual when he departed for work — kiss his wife. Fortunately, he had a second chance. For others, the kiss is gone, the touch no more and a message on the answering machine or a picture in an album is all they have.
I remember traveling to New Orleans in November 2001. It would be the first flight my wife and I took after the tragedy. As our bags were checked, the National Guard looked on, fully equipped with military gear.
What a difference 10 years makes. There have been wars and rumors of wars, lives lost and damaged, uprisings in the Middle East, and billons of dollars spent on the war on terror. Osama bin Laden has been hunted down and killed.
I remember joining hands with co-workers a year later as we bowed our heads and observed a moment of silence at 8:46 a.m. We shared our thoughts of the events of 9/11 and the impact on our lives then and at that time.
I remember sharing this Chinese proverb during an event, reminding the audience not to take life for granted:
What good is it
to move an inch forward
in a two-thousand-year journey?
And yet we are here to travel
an inch a day.
That is the purpose of life:
to know that two-thousand light years
are but the beginning of the journey
and to remain calm,
moving forward
an inch a day.
I remember the day the walls came crashing down, the images, thoughts and feelings. I remember how people came together to help and comfort one another.
Tomorrow, I will remember all the people who died and don't have a chance to remember. I will meet them at the altar as we all continue to move forward, an inch a day.
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