I only had about three weeks to go before maternity leave, but woke up feeling nauseous and fatigued and decided to stay home from work. I was in the shower when my husband stuck his head in the door and said my sister called and said the twin towers had been hit by planes.
The next several hours were spent in front of the television viewing live coverage. Watching the towers fall was like watching a movie. No one wanted to believe that there were real people in those buildings that were burning and crumbling. The horror just continued as the Pentagon was hit and it was reported that another plane was suspected to be hijacked.
I spent the last weeks of my pregnancy crying almost daily, although I didn’t even know a single person in New York, at the Pentagon or on any of the planes. I wondered how many expectant mothers had lost someone that day. I thought about all the emergency workers who died doing their jobs. I felt appreciatve of those who worked at the scene and was touched by the overwhelming wave of patriotism. I was a mess. While we had our new baby’s first name picked, we were in limbo about a middle name and had considered several names, one being Christian. That name was cemented when I saw it printed below a large photo of a firefighter missing at the WTC on television.
My son, who wasn’t due until October 15 arrived a few days early. It was one month after the terrorist attacks that I sat in a delivery room at the hospital watching President Bush’s request for a moment of silence to remember what occurred on 9/11.
Though the memories have faded a bit and the emotions, have lightened, I’ll never forget the details of that day. I know I’m not the only one.