Today is 9/11.
There is no shortage of tributes, memorials, and ceremonies for 9/11. And there never should be.
By the time I post this, it will be 9/12 in New York, Washington, D.C. and Somerset County, Pennsylvania. As a husband, father, and veteran I thought it might be fitting to write about the day after 9/11. The day after our country got punched in the gut. The day when dads across the country realized this was their Pearl Harbor moment in many ways.
“Who Was at the Door?”
In 2001 we had two very small children. I had left the military after six years of service. I was giving civilian life a go. I missed the military, and I was conflicted that so many were serving in uniform when the country needed them. But I figured I was just another veteran with lousy timing. Or was it good timing? I thought about going back into the military, but life was getting a little complicated with a high-risk pregnancy, unexpected unemployment, and a very cloudy future.
Just a few months later we were in a much better place financially – meaning I had a job and insurance. On a quiet Saturday morning, I was holding baby #3 on my hip, and the doorbell rang. It was the mailman, and he had a letter addressed to me by my military rank and service. I had not touched the Marine Corps in over two years. My chest tightened, and my adrenaline began to surge.
My wife asked me from the kitchen, “Who was at the door?” I lied. “It was some kid selling something.” I quickly put the thick letter under my shirt and put my infant daughter in her play pen. I rushed into the bathroom and turned on the overhead fan to muffle the sound of shuffling paper.
A Fearful Confession
Report in three weeks it read. And don’t bother RSVP’ing – just show up. At least that’s what it appeared to read in military jargon. I wish I could report that my initial reaction was one of patriotism, duty, loyalty, fill-in-the-altruistic-value. It was not. I was suddenly afraid. I had just begun a new career. I had a family to care of. I had a baby girl with major health issues. I had plenty of good reasons – aka excuses – not to go. So did those men and women on 9/11.
A few hours later, after the kids had gone to bed, I sat on the couch with my wife. We were staring at the walls, and she wanted to discuss paint colors for the house. I wasn’t even close to being fully present. My heart began to race because I knew I needed to tell her. I knew she would support me. In all of our days and years together, that remains one of her most admirable qualities. Still, I knew she would be scared.
So how do you segue from paint to “I think I’m going to war”?
I think it went something like, “Hey, remember how I was recently talking about how I missed traveling?” It was the best I could do at the time. I pulled out the letter I received earlier in the day. Then I told her. And then I began to cry. Not her – me. Then she began to cry. And we began to process that life was about to look very different.
You Go When You’re Called
On several occasions, I have been around people who had just learned their loved ones were not coming home. It is never a pleasant experience. In fact, those moments probably rank at the bottom of my life experiences. I cannot imagine the scale of those moments on 9/12/2001. I have friends that were there. They have a hard time describing it as well.
So after a good cry and a few prayers, we decided I had no choice, but to answer the call. I was no hero. I was just a dad who believed in being true to your values. “If not me, then who?” resonated in our conversation. Three weeks later, after an abrupt departure from work and a quick family vacation, I drove off to the processing center.
At this point, the story gets much less dramatic. I was told I was staying in “CONUS” (Continental United States). I was going to be a part of organizing the protection of a Marine Corps Air Station three hours from home. Big sigh from my family. And frankly, from me as well. I was not in harm’s way. I was able to see my family regularly. I was blessed. It was a quick six-month tour. I returned home.
But I had realized I missed the camaraderie, the men and women in uniform, and the feeling I was a part of something significant and important. I joined a Reserve unit and began to train again. It was exhilarating and challenging. Then our time came to head overseas. I broke the news to my wife over our anniversary dinner. She nodded and said she figured our time would come. “If not us, then who?” We had friends still in the military who had been over “there” three and four times. It was our time to do our part.
Clarity of Vision
Pause for a quick side-story.
Have you ever had one of those moments when time sort of stands still? I had fallen asleep on the family room couch for a Sunday afternoon nap. My favorite nap of the week I might add. I woke up and looked above me. At first, all I could see was a short oblong, white piece of plastic with two little aquamarine lines on it.
My focus then moved past the object and into the face of my wife who was apparently holding it. The look on her face was something between disbelief, insinuation, excitement, and terror. Have you ever seen that one fellas? It’s a sight to behold.
I quickly deduced that the oblong plastic with two lines on it combined with my wife’s intense gaze could only mean one thing. Baby #4 was on its way. I was leaving for Iraq in one week. I was going to be gone nearly a year. “Damn,” but in a good way of course.
I stood up and hugged my wife. We talked it through. We cried again. And we laughed.
As a result of our discovery, the next night during a going-away party, my wife slipped and told a friend. She screamed and suddenly every woman in the damn house somehow immediately knew my wife was pregnant. How does THAT work?
The Most Vivid Pain
A week later I had to say goodbye to my family. It was early, and it was dark. I had Marines to lead, but all I wanted to do was stay and hug my family. My son was eight; my girls were six and three and my wife was a few weeks pregnant. I was afraid – not of going to war, but of never seeing them again.
By this time, several men I had known had given the ultimate sacrifice in the place I was going. Those dads and moms on 9/11 gave their all as well. Walking away from my very young family that morning was one of the sharpest, most vivid pains I have ever felt in my life. I can only imagine it was similar to the pain of 9/12.
I walked behind the building and sobbed. And then I stopped. The deep breaths turned into calm determination. I found my men and patted them on the back. We got to the business at hand.
“If not me, then who?”
Epilogue
My daughter was born on August 25, 2005. I was on the green tactical phone in our little command center with my wife in between contractions. I heard her first cry. Then I balled like a little boy. And then I went outside and howled at the moon. We met for the first time seven weeks later when I stepped off the bus.
That was my September 12th. That was my day after.
