Two weeks ago: "Hey what are you up to Friday?" Friday. The date did not even cross my mind. Well, I would probably wake up, eat some breakfast, get ready and go to work, grab lunch with some friends and get some homework done a little later in the evening. Maybe head out with some people later that night or just embrace the Friends marathon I started.
Then it hit me.
Two Fridays ago, the nation honored the fourteenth anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks and plane crashes at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and a field in Pennsylvania. Thousands of Americans would be spending their Fridays with tear stained faces, clutching onto their loved ones, remembering those who never came home that day. There would be moments of silence and bells chiming at 8:46 A.M., 9:03 A.M., 9:37 A.M., and 10:03 A.M. American citizens, regardless of whether or not they were affected personally by this tragic day, would be walking around with a heavy heart.
And for me, a junior at Elon University, a smaller school in North Carolina, would be 571 miles from my small hometown in northern New Jersey. From the main NJ Transit line in my town, Ramsey, it takes you about an hour to get into the city, but on a clear, crisp day like that of September 11, 2001, you can see the city skyline while driving up the inclines on our local highway. It's a sight that always makes me proud to be where I'm from, but it's a sight I miss more than anything on 9/11 when I am this distance from a place that was so deeply affected by the tragedy that day brought fourteen years ago.
My school does not let 9/11 go unnoticed; you will hear bells chiming at the times of each plane crash and you will see a beautiful array of American flags lining each brick pathway on the main quad. But something is just so different. Maybe it is because we have students from an amalgamation of places in the country and the world with different experiences, whereas at home, everyone knew how greatly impacted our community was. Maybe it is that some people can show the empathy and understand the significance, but their emotions differ because they were not personally affected.
Maybe it is because my dad worked so closely with the recovery aspect of 9/11. He was home sick with meningitis for quite some time, but on 9/11 was transferred to the Office of Emergency Management branch of the New Jersey State Police. From that point on, his frequent time at home translated into days and weeks without seeing him because of his long hours helping so many distraught and broken hearted families. As a first grader, it was hard to understand how much my dad gave back to the country and to those who lost their loved ones, because in my six year old head, I missed him and wanted him back home. In retrospect, I can understand that from September through March of 2002, my dad gave every ounce of heart and support to the people and the city that needed it the most.
Maybe it is the nature of Bergen County, knowing that these planes struck the Twin Towers 33.1 miles away from our stomping grounds. The city is essentially our backyard and fourteen years ago someone hopped our fence and raided our property. Loved ones from our area said, "goodbye, have a great day, I'll see you at dinnertime," but their placemat and chair were left empty that evening. People from our area worried that if there were more attacks near the city, would our proximity put us in even more danger? There was no way of knowing what series of events would follow that day, but from that day forward, our community grew stronger. We supported first responders more than ever, we genuinely cared about how people were doing, and on every anniversary of 9/11, our town came to honor those we lost who served our town and county.
Everyone at Elon has a different story behind where they were at the time the plane struck the Twin Towers, and soon, we will be teaching the students who are enrolled at our institution more and more about the day that they were not alive to witness. I am grateful for the recognition Elon gives the day of September 11, 2001, transforming campus into a memorial for twenty-four hours and keeping the memory alive. But when I am 571 miles away from giving my family a hug that's a little tighter and a little longer than usual or seeing the city skyline glimmer in the sunlight, radiating strength from our recovery, I crave home just a little bit more.
