Bombarded

Every year this day is replayed over and over. Constant bombardment of images and videos from the awful day. 14 years ago I was worried she was on that plane.

My mother and her best friend had plans to go to the Bahamas. A fun filled ladies weekend to soak up the sun. After months of planning, they were off.

On September 11th, 2001 I woke up, got dressed, and began my journey to school. Like any other 1st grader, I couldn’t wait for the moment I arrived. I was eager to learn and like any other day I walked into the school and immediately a smile appeared on my face. My brother and I parted ways.

Soon after we entered the school there was a panic. Phones ringing off the hook. Teachers began running and talking in hushed voices. We were all gathered in the gym, I was scared. Our principal came out to give us notice that we would be leaving early. She gave little detail for a reason why. I heard whispers and didn’t know what to make of them.

I searched for my brother through a sea of children. Searching for a slight bit of comfort when I began to panic. I grew so nervous I began to tremble uncontrollably. Finally I found him, and his hug gave me hope.

Less than an hour after getting dropped off, my dad was back. Tears streaming down his face he looked lost.

In a world of commotion, I heard nothing but silence.

We turned on the news. Shocked to see videos so soon. They couldn’t get enough, playing the same clips over and over again.

Silence.

None of us had heard from my mother. Her flight had just taken off as these videos surfaced. The flight numbers posted all over the news but we were still unsure. Hers was not mentioned, I wanted to believe the news so badly but until I saw my mother again, I would not believe them.

The airport got wind of the commotion in the city and as the ash begin to hover, it became more obvious. Flights got cancelled, hers was one of them. After hours of waiting she finally opened the door. Tears running down my face I ran into her arms for a long and warm embrace. My mother was back, a feeling of relief came over the room.

Since then, we have always used September 11th, as a day for our family. Wether it be creating works of art together or having a nice dinner together, we have made it tradition to dedicate that day to family time. 14 years later, our tradition has not lessened, only morphed. Since we no longer live a single family unit, but rather spread out all over the country, we dedicate that day to calm activities and constant communication.

To many, the day is just another, like any other. However, to those who were affected, in any way no matter how small, will never forget. The media, does not let one forget. Every year new stories and articles about this day surface. New conspiracies popping up year after year, only getting more and more absurd. To those affected, we don’t want to be reminded. We wish to remember those who’s lives were lost and affected, but do not want the constant video clips, images, voice clips, and screams that are plastered all over the news.

As I think back, I cannot remember many details. I remember bits and pieces but never a full image. My memory is doing damage control for the constant stimulation that is thrown at me through my TV. It’s funny how we allow ourselves to be so immersed into something that may be so volatile. I know what I am doing when I turn on the news year after year, yet, I continue to do it. It has been engrained into us through societal norms that the only type of news is bad new and bad news is interesting. Maybe the real question is would a news channel ever chose to show other news on 9/11? Or does 9/11 propaganda sell too much?

It seems, to me, that news outlets have sold themselves out.