Reflections on That Day in September

On September 11, 2001, I was counseling adults with the Bergen County Technical Schools. Our offices were on the sixth floor of a building in Hackensack, NJ, that overlooked the Hudson River. That day was lovely and clear, revealing the Manhattan skyline very distinctly.

I had just welcomed my first client of the day when our receptionist rushed in to say that a plane had crashed into one of the twin towers. I immediately dismissed it as an accident and went on with my work. A few minutes later, she rushed in to say that the other tower had been hit also. Obviously this was not an accident. After rescheduling my client, I joined the vigil of those who watched and waited to see what would happen next.

Space does not permit recounting the many interesting and grievous events that occurred that day and in the weeks that followed. However, after twenty years, there are some events and images that stay with me. First, I recall my intense need to immediately connect with my loved ones and my frustration that we were not allowed to leave our workplace for several hours. I needed to be with my husband and to talk to my children. That evening, sharing that need to be with others, Christians gathered in a community service to worship God, hug one another and learn of the welfare of family members.

In the next few weeks, we were flooded with images of that day. I think particularly of the video that happened to capture the moment that the plane sliced through the second tower making it appear as if a knife were slicing off the top of a cake. Just as alarming was the image of the long line of firefighters, in full gear, resolutely walking into the tower and my anxious wanting to call out, "Stop. Don't go in. Turn around now!"

For weeks there were obituaries in the New York Times written by a crew of reporters who visited the bereaved families before writing lengthy, moving, and very personal obituaries. The iconic photo of firemen raising the American flag over the rubble was done by Thomas E Franklin, a staff photographer for our own Bergen County Record.

We were given specific training in counseling clients who had experienced such trauma. For the most part, my clients were bewildered by what had happened to them. One that stands out is a woman who had fled the site. When later recalled back to work, she wandered around confused, unable to remember where she was going or why she was there. Another client had a very narrow escape. On the second day of a new job, she took the commuter train to work intending to get off at the station under one of the towers. When the train reached her stop, the doors wouldn't open. Passengers were told that because of a "police action" they would have to disembark at the next station.

In the months that followed, I asked myself some hard questions. Would I have chosen to jump? Could I have stayed with someone confined to a wheelchair while others fled to safety down the stairs? One man did. What would it have been like to be trapped on a floor above the fire? However, the question that persisted in my personal reflection was, why hadn't I cried out to God during those first terror-filled hours? Why hadn't I even thought about God? What kind of a Christian was I if I couldn't even be a foxhole Christian?

The only conclusion that has given me peace is that I hadn't wondered then where God was, hadn't called out to God, and hadn't gone with some of my colleagues to a nearby church to pray because I knew where God was. He was right there with me the whole time.

Jacquie Terpstra