I don’t know what the purpose of my post is. I debated about sharing my story. I have written and deleted this post many times this week. Be warned that it is very personal and sad.
Where were you on 9-11-2001?
On September 11, 2001 my husband Shane and I were traveling home from his sister’s wedding in Wisconsin. We were on the Amtrak train. We were due to arrive home at 3pm that day after a 29 hour train ride. I was about 9 weeks pregnant with our first child.
Late in the evening of 9-10-01, while aboard the train, I had started to spot lightly. I was very concerned, but felt that there wasn’t much that could be done that night.
The next morning, 9-11-01, I awoke and went to the bathroom. I was bleeding heavily. I began to pass solid matter. I sat there and sobbed. Someone knocked on the door. I wiped my tears and wiped my bum. A clot came away on the toilet paper. I looked down and saw my baby.
I could see the baby’s head, arms, legs, and chest. I could see the tiny, perfect little spinal column. My whole world shifted. I have never before or since felt the debilitating sadness that I felt while sitting there holding my dead child.
I do not know how long I sat there.
I cleaned up and when to tell my husband that our child had died. The train had just pulled into Denver.
How do you tell a daddy that his baby is dead? How do you tell him on a crowded train? How do you find the words?
He was angry. Angry that we hadn’t gotten off the train and got medical care. Angry that our child was dead. Angry that I was hurting and that nothing he did could fix it.
We sat there side by side mourning in our own individual ways.
The train stayed in Denver. The passengers were getting irritated. The people who were supposed to get off in Denver were not allowed off of the train for several hours.
At first all we knew was that the train was on lock down.
Later we went to get a drink from the concession stand. People were talking about a plane crashing into the World Trade Center.
I remember thinking “What does that have to do with me? Accidents happen all the time. Let me go home. Please! I can’t sit here in a public place with the sight of my dead baby burned into my soul. I can’t stand the looks people give my while I sit and cry. Please. Please let me go home.”
We began to get more information after we had been in lock down for about 6 hours.
It wasn’t an accident.
There were 2 planes.
Someone did this on purpose.
We didn’t get much information. The information was just enough to know that the world changed that day. We were not safe.
I don’t remember much from that day.
I remember pain.
Physical pain. Miscarriages hurt. My head hurt.
Emotional pain. My very soul hurt. Bad.
At some point that evening I ran out of tears. I ran out of emotion. I sat there empty. I didn’t want to hear about the attack. I didn’t want to know. I wasn’t strong enough.
Finally at about 4 am on 9-12-01 we arrived home. I arrived home a different person.
I went to the doctor when the office opened that morning. They did an ultrasound and informed me that the pregnancy was no longer “viable.” I sat silent and nodded while tears rolled down my cheeks. I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell. I wanted the doctor to tell me that my child had died. "The pregnancy is no longer 'viable'" was too medical, too impersonal, too distant. I needed my pain to be acknowledged. I needed the short life of my baby to be acknowledged. My baby had died.
I didn’t turn on the TV. I didn’t turn on the radio. I knew that everyone was discussing the attack. I didn’t want to hear. I didn’t want to see. I could barely function in a world where babies died. I could not survive in world where babies died and people flew airplanes into buildings just to kill.
I laid in bed for days. I hid from the horror. Slowly I learned more. My heart breaks for the loss of life. Mothers lost their children that day. Wife’s lost husbands. Children lost parents. Brothers lost sisters.
Every anniversary of 9-11 I secretly mourn the loss of my child. My baby would be 9 years old now.
We all recite the phrase “Remember.” I pray that we don’t forget. I know that we will.
Does December 7th carry meaning to us?
Pearl Harbor was also an attack on us. People died. We vowed to remember. We forgot. Have we also forgotten the lessons that our nation learned that day? I don't know.
Already we are forgetting 9-11.
We cannot forget the emotion that came to us. We cannot become callous to the loss of life.
I changed that day and in the following weeks and months. I strengthened my faith in God. I accepted that there was a plan. That God is in charge. He knows me. He knows you. He loves me. I am his child. He loves those who died in the attacks and He loves those who were left behind.
I pray that we will remember the lessons learned that day. I pray that we will not lose the growth that we have gained.
Thomas S. Monson: If there is a spiritual lesson to be learned from our experience of that fateful day, it may be that we owe to God the same faithfulness that He gives to us. We should strive for steadiness, and for a commitment to God that does not ebb and flow with the years or the crises of our lives. **It should not require tragedy for us to remember Him, and we should not be compelled to humility before giving Him our faith and trust.** We should be with Him in every season.**
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