(Let’s) Never Forget

  It’s hard to believe that today there are people in the workforce who weren’t even alive on Sept. 11, 2001.

In fact, it’s been labeled a defining event for Millennials – a date marker between those who were alive on that date and those (Generation Z) who weren’t. That said, the passage of time has surely dimmed the memory even for many who did live through it. More’s the pity.

Odds are if you were “here” on that most awful of days, you’ll remember exactly where you were. I was travelling from one coast to the other – heading to speak at a conference early on that bright Tuesday morning in 2001. In fact, I was in the middle of that cross-country flight, literally running from one terminal to another in Dallas, Texas when my cellphone rang. I was annoyed – the hour was early, my flight in had been late, and the timing between that and my connection was uncomfortably short – particularly for a flight that was in another terminal. 

The call was from my wife – I assumed she was simply checking to see if I had landed safely – and she was, though not for the reasons I thought. See, I had been on an American Airlines flight heading for Los Angeles, after all – and at that time, not much else was known about the first plane that struck the World Trade Center beyond it being an American Airlines flight headed to LA. I was breathless – could hardly make out what she was saying from the noise in the terminal. I was sure I was misunderstanding what she claimed to have seen on TV.

Would that I had…

And then as I slowed, for the first time it sank in – and I saw what my subconscious mind had seen, but not registered – the crowds surrounding the TV monitors throughout the terminal.

My first thought was to try and get on a flight back home – fortunately my travel agent’s first thought was to get me a hotel room. They’d be in short supply shortly – and, sure enough, on that most awful of days – I wound up stranded in a hotel room hundreds of insurmountable miles away from family and friends. It was, without a doubt, the longest day – and loneliest night – of my life.

In fact, I was to spend the next several days at that Dallas hotel. There were no planes flying, no rental cars to be had – nowhere to go for what turned out to be three interminably long days. As that long week drew to a close, I was finally able to get a rental car and begin a long two-day journey home. It was a long, lonely drive, but one that gave me a lot of time to think, though most of that drive was a blur, just mile after endless mile of open road with nothing but AM talk radio to fill the void.

And then, somewhere in a remote section of Arkansas, I spotted something approaching in my rearview mirror. There hadn’t been much traffic on the road – in fact, it had been a couple of hours since I had seen anyone at all, so the movement caught my eye. As they came into focus, I saw it was a group of bikers – at least a couple of dozen of them, spread out across the highway – led by a particularly “scruffy” looking guy with a long beard and lots of menacing tattoos on a big bike. Out in the middle of nowhere, all alone on this deserted highway – well, I was nervous to say the least as they pulled alongside.

And then, as the lead cyclist pulled past me, I saw unfurled behind him on that big bike an enormous American flag.

At that moment, for the first time in 72 hours, I felt a sense of peace – the comfort you feel inside when you know you are going … home.

I’ve thought back on that day – and that feeling – many times since then. Even today, I can still feel that ache of being kept apart from those I love as if it were yesterday – but I also draw comfort from that memory of that biker gang driving by me flying our nation’s flag.   

On not a few mornings since that awful September day, I’ve thought about how many went to work, how many boarded a plane, not realizing that they would not get to come home, not just that day – but ever again. How many on that day sacrificed their lives so that others could go home. How many still put their lives on the line every day, here and abroad.

We take a lot for granted in this life, nothing more cavalierly than there will be a tomorrow to set the record straight, to right wrongs inflicted, to tell our loved ones just how precious they are.

This week as we remember that most awful of days, and the loss of those no longer with us, let’s never forget – and take a moment – together – to treasure what we have – and those we have to share it with still.

Peace.

- Nevin E. Adams, JD