On that Sunday morning, a Carolina Panthers rookie wide receiver named Steve Smith returned the opening kickoff 93 yards in the Minnesota Vikings indoor stadium to begin the season. The Panthers (my favorite team) won that game 24-13 and the city of Charlotte was abuzz with talk of getting tickets for the Super Bowl in January. The celebratory and joyous mood was not lost on me. After the Panthers opening kickoff return, I was so excited that I ran up the stairs and not paying attention tripped and ended up knocking the toenail off of the big toe on my right foot. This hurt like the devil and I was bleeding like a stuck pig but it was opening day and the Jets (my future husband’s favorite team) had yet to play their opener that afternoon so I just bandaged my foot and went about the day.
After lots of snacks and a lopsided Jets loss, I was feeling a little less joyous and a lot more pain in my foot. I removed the bandage to find the toe discolored and still bleeding. My then fiancée, Peter, decided that I needed to be seen by a doctor as soon as possible and took me to the Emergency Room. After several hours and some intensely painful injections into the nail bed of my toe, I left the ER with stitches, a heavily bandaged foot and pain killers.
The next morning came a bit later than usual as a result of the combination of returning late from the hospital and the pain killers. Thank goodness I didn’t have to go to an office with the crazy bandaged foot – my fiancée (now husband) and I had started working at our own brand new company the week before. We spent most of the day working on getting our ideas and plans together in order to sell cellular phones.
So normal a day – painful and busy but normal. The Monday night football game that night featured the Denver Broncos beating the New York Giants 31-27. What a day! - a day where the only thing that we thought about was a new business, recovery from a minor injury and the great pleasure in the enjoyment of a good football game. In retrospect, that Sunday and Monday were probably the last time when I ever experienced a normal day. Why? Because that Sunday and Monday had the dates of September 9 and 10 and the year was 2001.
Because of the pain medication, I slept in a bit on that Tuesday morning but only until 8:50am when my fiancée received the phone call telling us to turn on the television. At the time we normally watched the Today Show so that’s where we turned to see the first images of smoke pouring out of the South Tower of the World Trade Center. We watched (along with the rest of the nation) for the next eleven minutes – the last eleven minutes of normal. Eleven minutes during which I prayed and prayed for the people in the tower and on the plane that they may survive this horrific accident. At 9:03am on September 11, 2001, my normal, and the normal for most Americans, was irrevocably ripped from my soul.
As we watched in horror as Flight 175 slammed into the North Tower, the realization that this was not an accident and that we were under attack was instantaneous. My fiancée and I immediately grabbed our phones and began calling everyone that we could. My fiancée is from New York originally and he felt the pain from this attack as real as if he’d had a hot poker shoved into his side. He tried in vain (the cell signals were so jammed in New York City) to reach friends and family in the city to make sure that they were alright. Most everyone he was searching for were outside the city and were in no immediate danger but most were being evacuated from tall buildings (even in the suburbs) as a precaution.
Having talked to most of our family and not being in a standard office, we both settled onto the couch riveted to the news coverage where the images of the day inundated us. Images that have been permanently etched onto my soul surrounded me in horror. Images of people jumping to their deaths feeling that they had no escape from the Towers. Images of smoke billowing from the side of a supposedly impenetrable building in Washington, DC.
As the first tower began to crumple, I distinctly remember grabbing Peter’s arm and saying, “Where did the building go? Where is the building?” He grabbed me and held tight answering, “I don’t know.” The images started to become blurry they sped by. Images of a hole in a field in Pennsylvania only a short distance from where I grew up. Images of the second tower crumbling down and people running for their lives amid the smoke. Images of a priest being carried lifeless from the building.
The horrific images slowly began to be peppered with images of hope and survival. Twelve New York City firefighters and two survivors climbing out of the rubble after the collapse. Members of Congress singing God Bless America on the steps of the Capitol. The President addressing the country from the Oval Office and not from an undisclosed location. The beauty of the American flag being unfurled at Ground Zero and at the Pentagon.
America was attacked on September 11, 2001 but it was not destroyed. America’s people are much like a Phoenix rising from the ashes of the attack. We have scars and maybe even a few wounds that are still festering but we will not perish nor go quietly into the night. Normal has a new definition. The new American normal includes a healthy dose of caution but you better believe it still includes getting ready for some football.
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