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Afraid of Going Back July 29, 2008

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I was so very excited when I started this blog. I didn’t think twice about the memories or the pain that might come back through those memories. In fact, I expected to find tremendous healing through the writing. I knew it might be painful but that’s why I call it the Journey Through the Great Sadness. It is a journey, and I expect to come out the other side well.

My PTSD symptoms came on not long after I relocated to Indianapolis nearly six years ago. The only problem is: I didn’t know that’s what was going on. I found ways of stifling what I was feeling. My husband and I and my wonderful mother-in-law took a trip to Iowa to see my brother-in-law and his friend three years ago. It was a wonderful long weekend with them but I can recall that as being the weekend where I started going downhill – fast. I can recall the overwhelming sadness and despair and pain. I still had no clue what was going on at that time. I just knew that what I was feeling was getting worse.

In recent days, I have struggled with those feelings again. Perhaps it’s knowing that the July 4th weekend marks the unofficial beginning of a painful journey. Perhaps it’s knowing the anniversary of the attack is just months away. I have felt a great deal of depression again although it ebbs and flows. (Today is a good day.) For that reason, I have been afraid of writing. I am afraid of going back to that place.

Part of me doesn’t want to think about it or talk about it or write about it. But I also know how cathartic it is for me to do all of these things.

My anxiety has been rather high too. The election is also a few months away and, for some reason, I can’t get it out of my head that there will be another attack either before the election or in the final days of President Bush’s term. My senses are heightened, and I hate that feeling. I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulders to see who is possibly going to do what. I don’t want to go to a public place to celebrate our Independence Day. As much as I love racing, I don’t want to be here when the NASCAR Cup series comes to town for the Brickyard 500. I don’t want to be any place where there are large gatherings. Isn’t that silly? To be afraid of being in public.

I know another attack will happen. It isn’t a matter of if but when. I don’t want to be there when it happens. I don’t want to see it, smell it, hear it, feel it.

I’m afraid of going back.

The Day… Continued July 29, 2008

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Not long after the Pentagon was attacked, it was discovered another plane had been hijacked. Thanks to the bravery of those on board Flight 93, another building and perhaps thousands of lives were spared. By this point, some of the students had gone home; many simply felt helpless.

I, however, didn’t leave. In fact, I didn’t leave for nearly four hours. I couldn’t. I was simply paralyzed by fear. Almost as soon as the Pentagon was hit, I went back to the long assignment I had previously worked on reviewing the effects of weapons of mass destruction. It was clear that we were attacked. This was terrorism in our own backyard. I had talked to so many people about terrorism but none of them ever came up with this type of scenario. And none of them expected it to happen in our country. Moreover, I kept wondering what was on those planes. Were they done with the crashing of the planes or was there more to come with anthrax or some other WMD releasing into the sky as each plane exploded. I didn’t want to find out, so I stayed.

I called Mike, the CBN News Bureau Chief.

“I guess the interview is off, huh?” I said jokingly.

“You bet,” he replied. “But we need you. Get in here as quick as you can.”

Uh-oh. I had to come up with something. I wasn’t ready to cover this yet. I told him that I didn’t have any of my press passes with me and that most folks were being kept out of DC. Of course, none of this was true. I had my press passes, and I probably could have gotten into DC although it would have been hectic and it would have taken a few hours at best. But I didn’t want to go outside and the last thing I wanted to do was get stuck in a metal tube shooting under the grounds of a town that had just been attacked. Was the Metro next?

Mike agreed to let me come in the next morning to relieve those who would be working through the night on this unfolding story. I was relieved but felt incredible guilt. What in the world could I have done as a journalist covering this story? Nothing. Yet I still felt guilty. Maybe I felt guilty because I was just scared to death. I don’t know.

I finally decided to leave. My apartment was just about four miles from the school. It took me four-and-a-half hours to get home. Incoming traffic lanes were now outgoing lanes in an effort to relieve the decongestion from throngs of people trying to leave DC.

For a town filled with people stuck on themselves and unwilling to help, on this day nothing could be further from the truth. People waited patiently. It was hot – incredibly hot – so a few folks passed around bottled water, especially to those with little ones in the car. No one was a stranger as some cried openly on the shoulders of others as we stood in the streets waiting for the traffic jam to clear.

The thing I noticed most was the intense heat. It wasn’t exactly a hot day but the heat from the fire at the Pentagon made it even hotter. The black, billowing smoke continued to greet the crisp blue sky. It was visible from everywhere now. The smell of jet fuel floated through the air. Sirens blasted their urgency as they rolled through the streets transporting the injured.

Numb, I finally made it home and held Bojangles (the cat) close to my chest. I sat on the couch with him and watched the unfolding coverage. I wondered if Bo heard the sound. He must have sensed something because he seemed a bit jittery. But he also seemed to recognize my need for companionship at that moment. He rarely left my side. Not long after I had arrived, my friend from downstairs, Brooke, called to see if she could come up to my place. I was happy for the company but at the same token, I wanted to be alone. She cried in disbelief as we watched the coverage. Neither of us had family in the area and we both felt completely alone.

I can’t seem to recall where I first saw the video of the couple jumping to their deaths but I certainly recall everything about that image. It wouldn’t be the last time I would see that type of raw video. I remember watching them as they plummeted to their deaths from dozens of stories in the air and wondered how horrible it must have been inside that building for them to conclude that the better choice was to jump and die. No matter how hard I try, I can’t even begin to fathom that scenario. The other thing I remember about this couple was the look of peace on their faces. I don’t know if they were a romantic couple or office mates or just people who met for the first and last time. His tie floated up and to the side of his face. His arm never thrashed in an attempt to stop himself. He kept her hand in his the whole way down. Her skirt ballooned, and I secretly hoped it would cushion their fall. These are the images I see over and over again in my mind’s eye when I think back to that day.

I thought that was the darkest day of my life but, little did I know of the darkness that was yet to come.

The Day The World Changed Forever July 10, 2008

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I’m big on blogging. I think it’s fabulous for so many reasons. In fact, I’m going to speak at a blogging conference, Blog Indiana 2008, next month! But, when it comes to my own blog, I find it hard to get to. It isn’t that I don’t have anything to write about. I certainly do. However, when it comes to this subject matter, there are times I would just rather not discuss it. I have written about this experience before and made it through just fine. Yet sharing the details of that day, as I have wanted to do the last couple of weeks, has given me a sense of dread. But, that’s part of the journey through the Great Sadness, I suppose.

There are pieces of the story that don’t belong in this particular post. If I started, I wouldn’t finish. So, I’ll start by reminding you that I had worked on a month-long project for the production arm of CBN News. A few weeks after that project, I was asked by the bureau chief to do a live audition for their Capitol Hill Correspondent position. I was delighted!

For many weeks prior to 9/11, I had also been teaching part time at Connecticut Schools of Broadcasting, which was located in the basement of a building in Crystal City, Virginia. If you walked to the Pentagon from this building, it would be no further than 1/2 to 3/4 of a mile.

The morning of 9/11 started out differently than most days. A news junkie, I usually had the Today Show on. But I didn’t even look in the direction of the TV that morning. I was too busy rehearsing the script I had written for my audition. I distinctly remember the watermelon colored dress, the off-white hose and shoes, and the extra attention I paid to my hair and makeup. I even remember what underwear I had on!

Another oddity for that day is that I drove my car. I rarely did that, except to the grocery store every so often. Much like the TV, I would normally have had the radio on in the car. But I was still rehearsing. I wanted to nail that audition!

My schedule for the morning consisted of me stopping off at the school to give final exams to some of my students. From there, I would head into DC and to the CBN bureau for the audition. So, I parked my car under the building and entered the basement floor. I didn’t really notice much going on about me. By this point, I was already focused on the exams.

The students seemed to be milling about, almost nervously. One said, “You better get in RJ’s office.” (RJ was the Executive Director of the school.)

RJ was at his desk with a phone attached to each of his ears.

“Did you hear what happened?”

I shook my head no and tried to speak in between his conversations with the people on either phone; conversations that seemed panicked.

“A plane crashed into the World Trade Center building,” he replied.

Silent from disbelief, I finally responded, “Ok. That’s not a very funny joke, but I’ll wait for the punchline.”

“It’s not a joke,” he screamed. “I’m on the phone with my brother who was in the other WTC building. I’m trying to get him out of the building but they’re saying everyone needs to go back to their desks. I’m also on the phone with his wife. He couldn’t get through to her.”

Again, he started shouting things like, “Get out of the building”. “I don’t care what they told you.” “You’re going to be fine. Calm down.”

Strangely enough, this Radio and TV broadcasting school didn’t have cable so I ran out into the lobby to the McDonald’s that had several TV’s and satellite access. Dozens of people stood around watching in disbelief. Many whispered that it must have been an accident; a small plane that went off course. But the hole looked too big to be a small plane.

And then we all watched the second plane strike. Gasps filled the silence. People covered their gaping mouths with their hands and cried, “Oh, no.”

Someone said, “That wasn’t an accident. We’re under attack.”

Even as I write this… I can see each scene so clearly… as if it were happening again. The pounding in my chest right now reminds me of what I felt that morning.

RJ’s brother. Oh no. I ran back into his office.

“He’s out. He’s out,” RJ kept saying. “It’s ok. He got out. He’s safe.”

By this point, it became apparent that exams would have to wait. Too many students wanted to watch these events unfold, and truthfully, so did I. We walked between the McDonald’s TV’s and our class radio for the latest updates. One visit to the TV’s presented the most awful image – in my opinion – of the entire event.

A man and woman were shown (live) jumping from the building to their deaths. My first reaction was to wonder how bad it must have been where they were that they felt jumping was a much better option. I can’t even comprehend it. Then I noticed the look of peace on their faces. His tie floated skyward while he looked down to the ground that would soon greet him. Her skirt ballooned, and secretly I hoped it would save her from a violent death. But I knew better. To this day, I still can’t get that image out of my mind.

Back in the office listening to the radio, reports were rampant about bombings here and there, mostly in New York. Then reports of bombings in the DC area began flooding the airwaves. So many students had so many questions; I decided to try to make some sort of lesson out of this situation. We gathered in the class room to talk about the reality of what had just happened.

“We talked these last weeks about the types of scenes you would encounter as a journalist,” I started. “Obviously, we’ve never seen anything like this but if you ever faced anything like this, as a reporter, you’d have to do your job. Your life could very well be in danger. You’d witness some horrific things like we’ve seen live on TV today. Can you handle that?”

Many said they couldn’t and journalism was no longer an option for them. I didn’t blame them. It wasn’t an option for me anymore either; at least not that type of journalism.

Some of us returned to the radio while others returned to the televisions in the lobby. Soon, we looked at one another before someone broke the silence and said, “What was that sound?”

“I don’t know,” someone else replied.

“I’m going out to look,” yelled a student as he ran out the door.

“Don’t go out there,” I screamed at him only to finish the thought in my head. “You don’t know what’s out there.”

Shortly thereafter the radio confirmed that the Pentagon had been struck, just the same as the WTC buildings. In between the WTC buildings crumbling and the hijacked plane that crashed in Pennsylvania, many students decided to head back to their homes. There was nothing more to see or do here.

There is so much more from that day but, this post is long enough… and trying enough. I’ll end here for now.