The Death of Osama Bin Laden, part 1

Since this blog is a history of our family, I felt the urge to write our feelings down on the death of Osama Bin Laden so our children will know exactly how we felt when it happened.

Mark and I had not met when the first plane crashed into the World Trade Center. I was working in Annapolis, MD, only 30 minutes from DC, when someone came running in to the record room of the courthouse yelling "A PLANE JUST FLEW INTO THE WORLD TRADE CENTER." Now being the young 22 year old that I was, I thought he was referring to the World Trade Center in Baltimore. I thought a small plane had lost control and hit a building. My innocent mind never took into account that someone would actually do this on purpose. I had no idea of the enormity of the situation. Never again would I think the best of any situation. From that day on, I was a "the glass is half empty" kind of girl.

We all decided to meander down to the common room and turn on the news...you know, just in case they felt the need to report the story. And that's when I saw the second plane fly into the World Trade Center. I saw it live on television. Not a rerun, not a playback. I thought it was a joke.

The work day ended that morning, then and there. We all just kind of sat down, with opened mouths and starred at the television for what seemed like hours. I saw people jumping out of skyscrapers to escape the fire only to meet immediate death from the fall. I saw people, heroes, rush in to try and save as many as they could. I saw as each building fell down on itself. I watched in horror until they said another plan had flown into the Pentagon. And then another crashed in Pennsylvania. The newscaster said, "We don't know how many plans they have taken over, we don't know when this will end." That's when I ran.

You see, my father was flying that day. From Washington to Baltimore. He was in the air. I called my father's cell phone over and over and over again. No answer. I called his secretary and asked her if she had heard anything. She started to cry and said that my mother had called too and she didn't know anything. She would later say that this was the worst part of that day for her. When Jeff Starkey's daughter called to see if her father was still living.

I called the school where my mother taught at the time. The line was busy. I called over and over again. No answer. Busy. So I said to my boss, "I am leaving. I have to find out if my father is ok." I drove to the school and ran inside where the school and assembled all the children in the gymnasium. My mother saw me and immediately started to cry. She actually thought I knew something she didn't know. She thought I was coming to tell her something she didn't want to hear.

She knew nothing and I knew nothing so I just went home where I sat in front of the television for 24 hours straight with a box of tissues and a phone. I flipped from one channel to another, over and over again, hoping that the next station would have a tiny piece of information that I had not already heard. The daylight was fading and it seemed that the attacks had stopped but I still hadn't heard from my father. It turns out he had flown to Virginia Beach that morning and was on the naval base in Norfolk when the attacks happened. He was standing in the ship yard when the air raid siren started to scream and the ship's radar dishes started to whirl in preparation for war. He was then asked to leave the base. He rented a car and drove home. Apparently he had tried to call us but the lines were jammed.

Man, did he get it when he got home.

to be continued....