Twenty-five years have passed since the towers fell, when the world stopped, and a generation of people simultaneously experienced the same tragedy in real time. That morning changed me in a way that made time feel meaningless, and my previous goals and dreams feel naive and self-indulgent.
More troubling, I couldn’t talk myself out of the deja-vu I was experiencing. Unable to share or really acknowledge it to myself, I had been haunted by dreams for a better part of a year. Each had occurred while I was based in NYC and included a flash of planes flying into buildings.
My conscious mind would pull me out of the deep sleep, and I would shake them off as anxiety or fatigue. My life there had been turbulent; I lived from paycheck to paycheck and wandered the city, entranced by its energy. An ominous Captain’s comment reiterated our vulnerability as a flagship carrier and symbol of the United States, as he told us never to forget we were a target to our enemies, and we had them. A new apartment and a new set of roommates might have helped for a bit, but eventually I transferred to San Francisco for a new start.
The Day that Changed a Generation
My old life ended on a crisp morning in September. Up early for a morning flight departing from Reno, I heard a new announcement in the hotel lobby as I left that an airplane had crashed into the World Trade Center. In an era before instant handheld information, I arrived at the airport and went to work preparing the cabin for my first flight of the day. I had even mentioned it to the flight deck when they arrived.
I would never greet the day’s passengers. Soon after, all crew members, including myself, were escorted off the aircraft to operations. A place that required ramp access and was off-limits for cabin crew. Sitting in an uncomfortable chair, unable to move, I experienced a situation none of my training had prepared me for. First, the FAA ordered the airspace cleared. As cabin crew, we just watched the TV like the rest of the country as our captain tried in vain to get more information; our flight and its schedule were not a priority.
As we were trained, I reached out to my loved ones to let them know I was safe. As a souvenir of my NYC life, I still had a New York phone number, and no one could reach me on my cell phone.
That morning, I didn’t register time, and I didn’t feel hunger, but I did want to retreat back to the previous night’s hotel room. I needed a private space, but the captain wouldn’t release us from operations, and he was in command in the time of an emergency.
I must have looked emotionally drained; I had been curled up in a ball, watching an old TV in operations as the first tower, then the second come down in a pile of debris. We learned of the hit at the Pentagon and finally of the brave passengers who downed their aircraft in a field in Pennsylvania.
After getting our cell phone numbers, our captain released the flight crew, and we made our way up the stairs and through a deserted airport in the middle of the day. We walked together back across the street to the layover hotel, next to the airport.
Entering my hotel room, I found it exactly how I left it. I took off my uniform as fast as I could, like it was causing me a rash. In my layover clothes on the bed, I turned on the TV.
That’s when I realized I could not be alone. I went to a crewmember’s room, and we sat together, in a bond forged by wings and a mutual experience. At some point, the light faded, and the Captain sent to-go food to our rooms. I picked at it, unable to tear my eyes away.
The Day After
The following morning, it became obvious we were grounded. The industry had to remake itself. Some crews started to fall apart when crew members rented cars and drove home, unwilling to wait for the airspace to open.
The images were somehow more real than the suspended reality of the day before. As a former NYC resident, seeing the aftermath was surreal. From the constant images of the point of impact to subsequent building collapses to the people fleeing the scene with ashen faces, I felt like I was still in NYC, even though I was a coast away.
Eventually, the flight crew operations pieced together crews to staff flights. When I reported for duty for my first post-9/11 flight from RNO-LAX, we were all navigating a new security protocol to get stranded passengers home. As we arrived at the gate, an agent handed us red, white and blue ribbons to pin on our wings to honor those AA had lost.
At LAX, I boarded a 757, my favorite aircraft bound for Austin. The passengers were weary and worn, yet thankful to be returning home since all previous plans had been canceled and most passengers just wanted to get home. It was the most polite flight and, in many ways, the flight I will remember as my last flight.
Upon landing, I asked to make the welcome announcement to the cabin.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I want to be the first to welcome you to my home and yours.” The cabin erupted in thankful cheers.
I picked up my car in the employee parking lot and drove to my apartment in San Antonio, realizing it was where I lived. In my heart, Austin was my home, and I would end up moving back there in the coming months.
Reimagining My Life in the Wake of 9/11
I would try to walk off 9/11 in the coming days and weeks. The airline honored my previously scheduled vacation, not needing to have all hands on deck to staff empty flights. I took my first trip to Europe, walking across England and Scotland, hoping that would help.
However, when I returned to work. I couldn’t. The job responsibilities had changed immensely while I was off. I was teetering. I was definitely struggling.
I tried for a furlough and was denied flat-out. Fear snuck in, and I couldn’t be fearless any longer. I couldn’t think of passenger safety before my own.
I completed one trip, then I walked out of the airport and flew home. I left a resignation message on my supervisor’s voicemail. I owed her nothing since she couldn’t be bothered to check on her line-and-file flight attendants. I just wanted to be home and safe. The glamour of flying was tarnished, and the idea of waking up in a new city every day felt risky.
The next few weeks were a blur of a temporary retail job to keep me busy, slaying a depression dragon, and realizing I mourned for my previous flying life. It would be over a month before I learned who I had lost on that day.
Returning to my parents’ home and my permanent address, I collected my mail and the flight attendant’s union memorial magazine for the crew lost. As I thumbed through its pages, I stopped cold. My former NYC roommate, Sara Low, who had transferred to Boston before I had moved to San Francisco. It was the final blow to hollow me out.
In the months and years that followed, I would feel like I had saved myself and could have saved her. That I could have said something to Sara that would have kept her safe.
Motherhood and Guilt
Sitting in a therapist’s office, two decades later, he would label it. You have survivor’s guilt, or the misplaced feeling of guilt that I could have prevented the tragedy, or at least your former roommate’s death.
I had muddled through for years, raising three children while carrying a weight no one could see, or I even understood. I just knew I wasn’t like everyone else.
In 2002, after close to 30 hours of hard labor, I had my first child, a sweet, mergenue baby girl. It was more than a new life. It was a tipping point.
It had been just 15 months since I had walked away from my dream job as a flight attendant with a broken heart. Motherhood could sink me, or I could mutter out of a fog that had consumed me for over a year.
I dug deep for an energy reserve I didn’t know was there, then lived each day for my baby, and later for my three kids.
Over that pregnancy and throughout most of my three children’s early childhood, dark clouds gathered at the edge of my life.
In retrospect, my kids saved me, for they kept me from sinking into a guilt that would have consumed me. Even after learning of my survivor’s guilt, acknowledging that didn’t change certain nagging behaviors.
For me, a ground-hugging dark cloud crept in to steal all the positive from my life. It led me to believe I did not deserve to be happy. I didn’t deserve a reward for hard work. I didn’t deserve to be proud of my accomplishments, even those of my three successful children.
The only reason I had another dream job, a travel writer and journalist, was because I owed it to my kids. When I walked away from the airline, that ended my ability to fly for pennies. I wanted to raise well-traveled kids, and my website allowed me to give that to my kids.
Naming survivors’ guilt let me call it out, but the feeling still creeps in without my consent. And to this day, I have to identify the feeling and remind myself. Yes, I can and deserve to be happy. I can be excited for my kids to graduate. I can celebrate and enjoy life.
Things I Learned After 9/11
In the end, your family matters most.
I am humbled to have had the privilege of raising children. Not a day goes by that I don’t prioritize them over all other aspects of life. In turn, my children know how deeply loved they are. I tell them with words and actions.
If its loss makes you cry, it is love, or something very close to it.
I pay close attention to my emotions as a touchstone to what I hold dear. I used to think of crying as a sign of weakness. Now it lets me know how much I care.
Ignoring the pain might get you time, but it won’t get you peace.
For much of my first few years after 9/11, I was numb. It wasn’t until the 10th anniversary that I was able to admit to people that I used to fly and that my former roommate died on board. It took another 10 years to come to terms with the guilt. The last few have granted me peace.
Keep going, even if it is slowly.
I didn’t have the answers then, and I still don’t have the answers now. I just keep going, and it does help.
Get Outdoors.
From an early age, being outdoors felt calming. It is still the same today. I relish spending time outdoors, especially in our national parks. The outdoors remind me that wounds eventually heal.
Admit it was a traumatic experience.
9/11 was an act of terrorism, and in that in inself was traumatic. I should have gotten help earlier and admitted I was struggling, and I needed some guidance to find my way out and to find peace.
Carrying an invisible weight of guilt is exhausting and unnecessary.
Holding on to those emotions doesn’t make you stronger. The toll affects your mental and physical health. Get professional help.
Don’t stay in a situation in which you are treated like a commodity.
For me, I couldn’t fly professionally any longer, and I have made peace with that. It ultimately didn’t end my travel career, just my flight attendant career.
Life is unpredictable, and that is by design.
With its twists and turns, I am more resilient because of my experiences, the good and the tragic.
Life is meant to be lived with a positive frame of mind.
Don’t waste the most precious gift you are given by suffering unnecessarily.
Build something you love.
From a house to a garden to a reading corner, make something for yourself. For me, I restored 100-year-old homes, inside and out.
Don’t let fear eat your joy.
Fear will taint anything it can. Identify it and adjust your behavior to push it back. For me, I had to push back a fear of flying after 9/11, and I eventually did, but it was difficult on those first few flights, and I literally felt my hands sweat. For decades, I couldn’t fly on an aircraft on 9/11; I have done that as well.
Honor them, even if it breaks your heart.
My first trip to the 9/11 Memorial in NYC was a blur of blinding tears and a flashback to the day. On my next trip, I walked through with my oldest son and shared what I experienced on 9/11.
Now, I try to visit every time I am in NYC. In 2024, I visited on 9/11 and cried for two hours with a person who had known Betty Ong, another 9/11 flight attendant heroine.
Forgive
I forgave Osama bin Laden, the hijackers and the geopolitical forces that allowed 9/11 to happen. Not for them, but for me. However, forgiving myself was harder and more time-consuming.
9/11 will always be a hard and painful day, but I keep my sadness on that day.
