From My Journal: As we neared Central Park South, I tried (this time successfully) to get an outside cell phone line. We spoke again with our youngest daughter, who was clearly shaken by all the news out of NYC, DC, and PA. At 20, she is of independent character and doesn’t often express her feelings, leaving us–her parents–to sometimes wonder where we stand in the scheme of things. This one phone call clarified all that. We are important to her. She loves us.
I handed the phone to my husband who continued to talk with her. I spotted a bench a few feet away and decided to rest. An elderly man approached me. He was slightly bent, wore baggy dress pants, and a too-large white oxford shirt and tie. The glasses he wore low on the bridge of his nose were thick and obtrusive to his face. When he sat next to me, I turned to him and said, “Are you all right?”
“I have no where to go.”
“Do you live here?”
“I work here.”
“But you don’t live here?”
“I have no where to go,” he repeated. I realized then that the man was in shock. I touched his shoulder and said, “Do you have any friends here?”
“Yes,” he said, almost mechanically. “Maybe I will call them. Maybe when they get home.”
“Can I pray for you?” I asked.
He nodded, then stood and shuffled away, leaving me feeling strange. Had I just met an angel unawares? I prayed for the man . . . that he would find shelter, his friends . . . something.
After Dennis finished talking with Jessica, I checked my voice mail, which was filled!
“Eva, please call me!”
“Eva, if you and Dennis have the ability to hear this, please let me know you are okay.”
“Eva, we’re worried sick.”
A dear friend in Oklahoma City, choked and tearful, begged me to call her as soon as I could . . . and to please, please be all right.
When we returned to our hotel room, I made a call to one of my best friends who answered her caller-ID phone with, “I love you! I just want to get that out of the way, okay?”
Tuesday, September 11, 2001
Evening
Proclaim this among the nations: prepare for war! (Joel 3:9)
“An act of war.”
Everywhere we went, the words were the same. Everyone we saw, the expression was the same. Posters going up here and there. “Have you seen this person?” “Missing!” “Please Call!”
Rich man in a business suit speaking into a cell phone. Poor man resting on a curb talking to another poor man sitting next to him. The conversation was always the same. Jew and Gentile. Christian and Muslim. It was all the same. Before our eyes were downcast, we saw what we saw. Before our ears were deafened, we heard what we heard. Before our hearts were broken, we faced what we now know.
We are a part of history. We are at war.
Wednesday, September 12, 2001
Jesus replied, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind” (Matthew 22:37)
I woke around four in the morning with a sense of foreboding. I couldn’t sleep so I got up, turned on the television, and hoped for a fragment of good news. There was none.
One of the most powerful moments for me during this enormous tragedy was about to unfold. In a televised report were the stories of the last calls from loved ones to loved ones. I began to imagine myself aboard those ill-fated jets. Who would I call were I to only have a few minutes left in my life?
One of those calls would go to our youngest, Jessica, who–at 20–was struggling with that season of young adulthood. But what would I say to her? I would remind her to love God with her whole heart and mind and soul and being. To hold each day as a gift from Him, to live each moment for Him and to perform each act and speak each word as ministry to Him. This would be my legacy to her. This would be the best of what I could leave her.
Looking Back (2021): I didn’t record this, but the gates leading into Central Park were closed. Locked tighter than Dick’s hatband. The park was a mere hop, skip, and jump from our hotel, so we were close “to home” when I realized our cell service was back in order. If I remember correctly, this was about 2:20 in the afternoon.
My phone held 40 voice messages. My inbox was full. When we returned to the hotel, we listened to them all, wrote down all the names, and then started returning calls. This was back in the day before “unlimited” calling, and I knew we’d have quite the bill the following month. We did.
My friend in Oklahoma City was still reeling from the 1995 bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building.
While we were in the room making calls we began aware of rumbling coming from the street. Loud. Obnoxious. We looked out to see lines of dump trucks hauling debris. I also noted the apartment high rise across the street. Our window looked directly onto an apartment with a mother reading a book to a small child in her lap.
When we returned home, I wrote a letter to each of our children, letting them know how dear they were to me so that, should anything happen to me, they’d have my heart on paper. For the longest time, they were kept in a safe, but I honestly don’t know what happened to them after that. Somewhere in between, I’ve made sure they know. I’ve used words from my lips rather than from my pen.
Before the day came to a close, I had rearranged some of the furniture in the hotel room.
Eva, thank you for sharing your story of 9/11. All of us who were old enough to know about it at the time remember where we were, some of us remember where we were when JFK got shot. It’s hard to believe it’s been 20 years; it doesn’t seem that long ago. But when you think of all the changes in our lives in the past 20 years, you know. When you mentioned calling your parents, I was reminded, knowing they have gone on to a better world now. Yet despite time, we must not forget the impact it had on our lives and the lives of the whole nation. And we must be aware of how much can change in an instant and how important it is to treasure the ones we love and let them know we do.
No. We cannot forget. Yes, we must always remember how quickly change can occur. How precious our loved ones are.