CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
I think everyone remembers where they were on September 11, 2001. I was still an active-duty member of the Air Force at that time, but Melissa and I happened to be in Turkey. We were on vacation and had gone to visit my family. This was Melissa’s first time visiting Turkey, and she was loving the unique culture and the hospitality of the Turkish people.
We had gone shopping in downtown Karsiyaka and had just returned on foot to my mom’s fifth-floor apartment. We put down our bags and I turned on the TV.
At first, I thought I was watching a scene from a movie. It didn’t look like reality. As we all sat down on my mom’s couch, we realized the magnitude of the tragedy. I was thrown into a state of shock and disbelief.
Nothing made sense to me at that time. I could feel my faith in humanity draining out of me. I sat on the couch, engulfed by waves of extreme disappointment and defeat. It was as if my will to live had been stolen. My spirit was broken. And I definitely never wanted to set foot on an airplane again.
I contacted my base in Kansas and they told me to stay in Turkey for the time being. It seemed as if anything could happen to anyone at any moment.
This is what terror does to people. It runs a shock through your entire body. It puts your life on pause, surrounding you with negative thoughts. You shift into a parallel realm of fear and worry. What had been your ordinary world becomes a very dark, depressing place without warning, and it is impossible to see a way back to how things once were. Terror is a killer of hope. I hated it then, and I hate it now.
I had some experience with these feelings because of the political violence I had seen and heard about as a child, but this was an entirely different level of extremity. My heart went out to all those who died during the attacks. I cried and cried, watching the footage of the collapsing buildings.
I thought about the victims in the World Trade Center, at the Pentagon, in the air and on the ground. As more and more information was revealed about the attacks and the images of terror were repeated over and over again on the news, I felt the sadness creep into my bones and harden there.
I still think about the woman I saw who tried to keep her skirt from flying up as she jumped off one of the towers to her death. That act alone spoke volumes to me about her personality.
The images of people in the street, their faces and clothing covered in smoke and ash, will never leave me. I think about the struggle that took place on United Flight 93 in Pennsylvania, where the passengers fought back against the hijackers, sacrificing their own lives but saving who knows how many others. Todd Beamer’s words before charging the cockpit on that flight — “Let’s roll!” — never leave my mind.
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