I was 23 years old when I joined the Navy. I was old enough to know what I was doing, but still naive enough to not consider every aspect of the important, life-altering decision I was making. What I mean by this is I didn’t join the military service with thoughts of serving my country, fighting for her freedom, and self-sacrifice at the forefront of my mind. That may sound bad, but it’s the truth.
I was tired of working full-time as a bartender while I tried to pass nursing school. I was tired of calls from creditors as I fell behind on bills, and racked up more student loans. I came from a military family. Despite being enrolled in a nursing program, I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to be when I grew up. It seemed like a natural choice to follow my family’s footsteps and enlist in military service where I could make a descent income and have my education paid for.
I remember looking in a Pier One catalog, longingly adoring some glass martini stir sticks, and thinking, when I become a naval officer I’ll be able to afford stuff like that! I mentioned I was naive, right?
Sadly, I think a lot of young people jump into military service not realizing the commitment they are really making. You see them in bootcamp with big, scared eyes, some pretending to be suicidal or mentally imbalanced, just hoping they can get kicked out and sent back home.
A strange thing happens though when you become part of the military community. You start to see things in a different way. Words like honor, courage, and commitment take on a new light. A sense of duty just comes as second nature. Nothing can hasten this type of thinking along like the events that occurred on September 11th.
Graduation from Hospital Corps School
Photo taken in August 2001
I know everyone remembers where they were that day, and I’m no exception. I was in the office pictured above stationed at National Naval Medical Center Bethesda, MD. We were approximately 20 minutes outside of Washington, DC.
I had taken a break from my work, and had gone to my husband’s office. They had a TV there, and they were watching footage of the aftermath of the first plane hitting the World Trade Center. It was assumed an accident at this point. As we watched a second plane hit I remember my heart rising up into my throat while shock and despair overcame me. I immediately went back to my work station to spread the word, but also because I knew it was what I should do.
Shortly after this we became aware of the plane hitting the Pentagon. This was 20 minutes away, and while the Trade Center was more devastation as far as number wise, the close proximity of the Pentagon strike made it more real and frightening to me.
Chatter began to spread through the base, or “scuttlebutt” as we called it. People were saying another plane was in the air and radar had tracked it coming our way. There was speculation of it heading towards the White House or the Capital, but there was a sliver of a thought for me, what if it’s coming here?
We had a large tower in the center of our President’s hospital, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I had irrational fear that day that the plane was heading to our base. I say irrational now, but at the time it made perfect sense to me.
Amidst my fears our communication systems went down. Our phones had no dial tone, and this scared me even more. As a young Corpsman I didn’t realize the base had cut communication for our own protection. It simply served to frighten me at the time.
Our base went on lock-down, with no one in or out. We mobilized and sent assistance to the Pentagon. I’ll honestly admit that I’m grateful I didn’t go to DC that day. I just wouldn’t want those memories.
I stayed on base contacting patients via my cell phone, and later serving as a sentry to guard the perimeter while lock-down procedures advanced for full security of the base. It was a long, emotionally draining day. It was only the beginning.
I would see our base change. I would see a Nation change. I would watch people put aside their differences and join together in support of our country. If there’s anything I wish people could remember it would be that. I wish they could remember how we were a people united in the aftermath of 9/11.
I saw myself change. I saw my commitment to country and my fellow man grow ten-fold. I remember watching our President, George Bush, speak after the incident, and I loved him.
I cried. I didn’t think I would stop crying. I would watch footage of people jumping from windows to avoid fire, and I would weep.
Our ship would deploy to New York to assist with rescue operations. A nation would watch with bated breath as they tried to excavate survivors, but the days would drag on, and grief would ensue.
I would hear so many personal stories of people spared, and even knew one myself. A friend who was a Bronx firefighter would choose that day to leave early for his son’s birthday. He would see the explosion as he crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, and turn around quickly, but discover his crew had already gone on-site before he returned.
I would watch him cry with guilt because they had all died, and he had been left. He took us to Ground Zero months after, and I was astounded at the continued devastation.
While on Ground Zero we witnessed the discovery of a body. Rather than simply removing it, they performed a funeral procession to exhume the remains. I think what affected me the most on that trip were the flyers and personal letters that were plastered on every available surface. There were missing posters, letters to loved ones, and notes from children to their parents. You could feel the raw emotion and quest for closure emanating from the paper.
I would watch a War on Terror start, and I would wave goodbye to my first husband as he deployed to Iraq.
I would see him return a different man, with hollow eyes from things witnessed that he couldn’t seem to forget.
About three years ago I stopped watching the documentaries. They were so draining to me, being unable to watch them simply as history, but instead feeling the strong emotion as if it were still the aftermath of 2001.
I thought with time my emotional response would fade or lessen, but it hasn’t. Earlier today I watched a speech by Bush from Ground Zero, and I wept just as I did then. I don’t know the answers to the question “why.” I know wickedness and evil exists in this world, but I do not fear them. I only fear The Lord.
The memories of 9/11 only strengthen my resolve to pray that God can deliver us from the evil we have created in this world, evil that steals mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, and friends from us. I will never forget.
*All the pictures in this post were taken with my personal camera.
ruthiespage says
Everyone should read this. may I repost!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you Ruthie! Anytime.
Cathy says
Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us. God bless you.
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you so much!
Don Meuchel says
Only GOD !!!!
thanks for your story…
Don Meuchel…Company C, 1st bn., 16th Infantry.
Boblingen, West Germany….1973-1977
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you for commenting, and thank you for your service!
meltedflowers says
Well written. Cried. I don’t think.anyone knew at the time just how. Changed we would become…and I am afraid people have forgotten just how much we need to.remain United.
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Yes.