Last month marked the 23rd anniversary of 9/11. Memories and reflections of my own healing process since that day flooded my mind. I offer this to you, dear reader. May my words support you in naming your experience. 

It was a beautiful day that Tuesday in September. The sky was a brilliant blue, not a cloud in the sky.   

I began jury duty the day before. The courthouse was in lower Manhattan, a 20-minute subway ride from my apartment. At day’s end, the judge instructed the jury to arrive at the courthouse at 11am rather than the usual 9am because the court was being used for some other purpose. 

On that Tuesday morning, I was at my computer. About 9:30, my husband called to warn me that there was a disturbance downtown, something about a plane crash and the World Trade Center. It may have been a small plane that got off course and crashed. 

I heeded Bret’s warning. To catch the bus that would go across town, I walked a couple of blocks to the bus stop. My plan was to transfer to the eastside subway that would take me to the courthouse.

The bus arrived, I stepped on, paid the fare, and noticed the strain on my fellow passengers’ faces. Several people had radios and were deliberately turning up the volume.  

I looked around the bus, grateful not to be alone. These strangers with their radios had become a community, a strange sort of lifeline. We barely breathed, sharing these precious moments of a new reality unfolding. “What did they say? The second tower is hit? What tower?”

Information came piecemeal. “They’re bombing Washington too,” a passenger reported. “A plane hit the Pentagon.”

Suddenly, the bus stopped. In a shaky voice, the bus driver announced: “All NYC public transportation is stopped indefinitely. New York City is under terrorist attack.” 

Shock covered me like a blanket. “Who flies airplanes into skyscraper office buildings?” It seemed the stuff of bad video games. 

One by one, each of us got off the bus. We were all dazed, not sure where to go. 

It took my brain a few moments to catch up to the situation. My first thought was, “How can I get downtown to jury duty?” I quickly ran through various options, another bus, one of several subways. 

More of this new reality sank in. All public transportation was on hold. No buses or subways were running anywhere in Manhattan. Just as startling, the New York City court system was on hold. No trials, period. Jury duty stopped.

Indeed, New York City was under terrorist attack. 

I knew the World Trade Center complex and the surrounding neighborhood well. A few years before, I’d lived a short block away and worked around the corner. Occasionally I had meetings in Tower 1, the North Tower. The elevators shook as they climbed to the higher floors: 102, 103, 104.

One of my delights in living downtown was exploring the floor beneath the World Trade Center towers. This was a vast shopping complex, full of stores, pharmacies, and food counters where you could get a coffee and two donuts for a dollar. 

Business people flooded these corridors all day long, moving from one building to another. This was the energy of New York City that drew millions of people, money, and commerce. This was the home of artists, filmmakers, dancers, and musicians. In New York City, you could find human beings at their very best and worst, sometimes living side by side. I loved it! 

But on this day, September 11, 2001, plumes of black smoke enveloped lower Manhattan. The strange mix of smells — burning fuel, steel, and human flesh — wafted through the air miles away. 

My kids had just started the school year. They attended The Cathedral School, a small school on the grounds of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, the largest Episcopal cathedral in the U.S. The Cathedral of St. John the Divine is an imposing structure which has long been a place alive with music, dance, and art. The Cathedral invites people to celebrate the wideness of God.

Shortly before noon, a call came from the school. The voice on the phone said the school was closing and parents should pick up their kids immediately. I ran there as fast as I could.

I arrived on the Cathedral grounds and ran up the long driveway to the school. Matthew and Mark were waiting expectantly, looking confused and scared. I looked up at that piercingly clear blue sky and saw F-16 fighter planes flying overhead. The Cathedral bells chimed every few seconds. 

The contrast between the sound of the bells and the vision of the jets was terrifying. And yet those bells carried a message of hope. Their sound pointed toward a world beyond suffering and chaos, a world that transcended the reality we were in. 

I hoped that transcendent reality was true. 

The kids and I arrived home and turned on the tv. We saw the images that would haunt our society for generations to come: the World Trade Center towers collapsing, imploding into heaps of rubble like two giant stacks of dominos. 

No measure of objective truth could penetrate the wall of disbelief. The state of disconnection that forms when the psyche is overwhelmed enveloped us.

Peter Jennings’ calm, intelligent reporting was enormously soothing as the foundations of reality were shifting and changing before our eyes. Now we live in a world where people crash giant airplanes into skyscrapers filled with people. 

An age of innocence died that day, for New Yorkers, Americans, the world…. and me. 

9/11 changed our sense of reality. The communal aspect had a powerful impact because people around the world felt the effects of the attacks.

Yet, on a smaller scale, each of us experiences life-altering situations that change how we view ourselves and the world. These may be joyful or sorrowful experiences. For example, we may marry, move to a new town or country, or become a parent or grandparent. We may have a traumatic accident or illness, or we may become a full-time caregiver for a loved one. Death of a beloved partner, parent, sibling, or friend is one of the most challenging life experiences.

Our sense of reality changes and our identity shifts when we go through any of these experiences. We may feel unmoored, as if the ground is shifting beneath our feet. We begin to feel emotions that are often buried beneath the shock. Moving through these situations is challenging, but healing is possible. Like all healing, though, this is a transformational process takes time, support, and self-compassion.

In time, a new normal emerges, and we regain a sense of stability. The ground feels solid and supportive beneath our feet. We who survive major traumatic events discover that indeed we have survived. We can clarify the life values we care about and decide how to live according to our values.

Faith can be a powerful support during challenging times. These ancient words may offer comfort:

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.”   (Psalm 23:4)

Yet, the pain of difficult life experiences may stretch the limits of our faith. Difficult life experiences may challenge us to dig deeper, clarify our beliefs, and admit doubts. In my healing process, I find stability in the grains of wisdom that I know to be true. 

QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION

~ What life-changing experiences have you had that altered your sense of reality? 

~ How were you changed?  

~ What positive affects on your life did these experiences make?

~ What role did faith play in your journey?

May these words from the poet Rilke support you: 

“(Y)ou must not be frightened if a sadness rises before you larger than any you’ve ever seen, if an anxiety like light and cloud shadows moves over your hands and everything that you do. You must realize that something has happened to you; that life has not forgotten you; it holds you in its hands and will not let you fall. Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any miseries, or any depressions? For after all, you do not know what work these conditions are doing inside you.” (From Letters to a Young Poet (The Eighth Letter) by Rainer Maria Rilke)