9/11 - JE ME SOUVIENS

"...and there he builded an altar unto the Lord, and called upon the name of the Lord."  (from Genesis 12:8)

Here in Massachusetts, we see a fair amount of Quebec license plates over the summer months.  Many Canadians vacation in New England and they love Cape Cod.  I remember from my early childhood that the Quebec plates used to say "La Belle Province" but the new motto "Je Me Souviens" comes out of the Quebec separatist movement.  My paternal grandparents each emigrated from just outside Montreal, and my heritage in Quebec goes way back.  I deeply regret that I speak very little French, but I do know that "Je Me Souviens" means "I remember".  (No, I won't talk about my French Canadian heritage today- maybe another time.)

I remember.

I remember September 11, 2001.  I also remember November 22, 1963, for that matter.  Up until 9/11/01, November 22, 1963 held the record in my memory as being the most sad and intense day that I could ever remember in this country.  The shock of the news of the Kennedy assassination, and all that followed was so vivid and horrible.  I never thought any day would equal the sadness and horror of November 22, 1963; and none did until September 11, 2001- which tied it.

Maybe it's because my birthday is in September, but I absolutely LOVE September.  On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, I was on a day off (as I usually am on Tuesdays).  At that time, my two daughters were students at Framingham's Marian (Catholic) High School.  Since both were on "financial aid" my wife and I had to "give something back" to the school.  (That was before my wife was the full-time head administrative assistant at Marian as she is currently.)  I was committed to doing clerical work in the Development office at Marian every Tuesday, just as I'd done over the previous school year.  Sept. 11 was my first day "serving" for that year.  I was up VERY early that day.  I drove Amy and Rachel to school.  I then went out and took a long walk.  It was a BEAUTIFUL morning.  There wasn't a cloud in the sky.  As I walked, I prayed that (like Joseph in the Old Testament) I would do a good job at Marian and find favor with my superiors.  I was so happy and so thankful for the beautiful day.  I picked up a Boston Herald and perused it over my breakfast table as I ate a bowl of Special K.  One article leaped out at me.  It said Regis Philbin was holding tryouts in Boston on Sept. 13 for college students.  I ran upstairs and told my son Jon, a Freshman at Emerson at the time. Jon was ecstatic and determined to try out.

After watching the last few minutes of a particularly good episode of Northern Exposure on A&E, I left for Marian at 9 and was in the office by 9:15.  After some cheerful "chit chat" I sat at the computer and began to work.  At 9:30,  Mr. Flynn (one of the teachers) burst into the room.

"My mother just called and said two planes crashed into the World Trade Center," he exclaimed.

There was a radio in the room, so I turned it on.  At first I believed some terrible accident had happened.  After about fifteen minutes, the announcer speculated that it must be "terrorism".  I now feel stupid writing this, but I hadn't even thought of terrorism.  I felt almost sick to my stomach.  A few minutes later, it was announced that a plane had just crashed into the Pentagon.  Like everyone else, I knew America was under attack.  I couldn't believe that this wonderful September morning had turned into what seemed like a horrible nightmare.  Then it was announced that a plane had crashed into a field in Pennsylvania.  I knew my son was in Boston to attend classes at Emerson, and that my sister worked in an office building near Copley Square.  I genuinely feared for their safety.  I wondered if the trains would be shut down and how they would get home.

In my heart, I was really afraid.  I prayed a silent prayer, asking God to calm me down and to lead me to a Scripture passage to read.  I carry a small "New Testament & Psalms" with me at all times.  I opened it to Psalm 27.  That Psalm gave me such peace and ministered to me in such a powerful way that I used it for the text for my sermon on the following Sunday.

The final period of the day was a special assembly to address the terrible events of the day. Fr. Sheridan, the Catholic Chaplain came in from his parish in Ashland and spoke.  I had to give him a lot of credit because I was not even sure what I'd say.  Sitting across from me was the mother of a Marian student.  She was also a woman who'd left our church six months earlier.  It was not a pleasant time and we'd angrily clashed over the departure.  After the service,  I spoke to her, urging us to forgive each other and reconcile.  We did.

The train service was slow and sporadic but Jon finally got home from Boston.  I remember feeling very patriotic and very emotional at the end of that day.  I suspected other attacks would follow within the next few months, and of course that did not happen.  I suspected America would never be the same, that we'd really draw closer to God and to one another.  That lasted for about three weeks, and then everything was back to "normal".  That still surprises and saddens me.

September 11, 2001.  I remember.