Oppressive heat enveloped me as I headed out this morning. The atmosphere was heavy and the sidewalks were wet with condensation and dew. The sun was trying to peek out, but was unsuccessful so far. The sky should not be radiant at all today, but instead it should be raining hard with a gloomy sky which would match the tears and moods of our nation as we remember the events twelve years ago when nearly 3,000 people lost their lives, buildings lost their moorings and many of us lost our faith in mankind.

I walked along deep in thought about today, the anniversary of one of the saddest days in history. Patriot Day they call it now, but to most people it is simply “September 11th” or “9/11”. Like President Kennedy’s death almost five decades ago, nearly everyone is able to recall what they were doing on that fateful day when we heard about the first plane that crashed into one tower of the World Trade Center at exactly 8:46 a.m. I was reading e-mails at my desk at the law firm when my mother called to tell me what she just heard on the news and asked if I knew – I did not. There was no commotion at work at that time, so I went to the administrative partner and asked if she knew anything – she did not. We gathered our co-workers who were there and left a note on the front door for arriving employees to go directly to the conference room. Within minutes of that first crash we assembled around the television in the conference room, pressed close to one another, mouths open as we watched the horrific scenes unfolding before us. There was no more legal work to be done that day – not only did work seem superficial at that point, but the Firm immediately shut down and dismissed us for the day. Our law firm was located in downtown Detroit, just a few blocks from the Federal courthouse and the Detroit River. Robb and I were the last to leave, however, since we needed to finish preparing an abatement chart with a client for a MIOSHA hearing in Lansing the following day. We were counseled by the Firm’s administrative partners that to stay was at our own peril, but we assured them we were safe and would leave as soon as possible. We left about an hour later – the Buhl Building elevator, adjoining garage and all of downtown Detroit was completely emptied out, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle of a busy metropolis on a business day. I had taken the bus in and Robb drove me home and he decided to take surface streets for the 13-mile trip; it seemed to take forever to get there.

Once home, I hugged my mom who had been listening to the news events on the radio since the first crash. Our house was in disarray as we were mid-way through a painting/wallpapering job and the television and VCR were unplugged and tucked away in a closet to keep them dust-free and heavy furniture was in front of that closet. My computer was in the basement but we stayed together, at the kitchen table, never switching off the all-news station, for hours until daylight turned to nightfall. The next morning I bought several different newspapers and that night we caught up on the photographs of the scarred city, people jumping out of windows or fleeing the thick acrid smoke crawling through the streets. It seemed that the news reports the day before did not exaggerate the events at all. This is how I remember 9/11. We each have our own remembrances of the images of September 11, 2001 – none of them are pleasant of course. The only good that came from that day was that it brought some unity to our nation. Any disparities prior to September 11th melted away as we all cried and bled as one.

While walking this morning I passed an elementary school where the Stars and Stripes hung limply at half-mast in the moist air, the bottom edges rustling a little in the slight breeze. I presume the flag was at half-mast for Patriot Day – perhaps it was for State Trooper Paul Butterfield who tragically lost his life this past Monday … still another senseless tragedy. The sad memories of 9/11 encompassed my thoughts and after I headed into the house and closed the door I glanced at the kitchen clock – 8:45 a.m. – time to stop and to take a minute for a solitary prayer for the desperation, death and destruction and also for those who lived whose lives will never be the same again.