The above print of a painting hangs where I pass by it several times a day, but I hardly need it to remind me of that awful day 25 years ago.

September 11th is one of those anniversaries that cannot pass unnoticed. Hiroshima was obviously many times more devastating, but I was not born then and I have never been there, whereas I lived for many years in New York and could see the twin towers from the terminal where I worked. I had gone to the World Trade Centre once.

Familiarity inevitably makes such events more meaningful, like the bombing of Pan Am 103 which was on a route I travelled often.

What made September 11th so much worse was seeing the towers collapse on my TV screen.

Humanitarian disasters are awful to hear about after the fact, but to see something like that play out in real time was horrifying.

That day I had just begun a week’s leave during which I planned to spend time with a friend who was over from England. It was he who called and told me to turn on the news. We were both stunned. He was with other friends that day and said he would be in touch again later.

In the face of such an appalling event, I felt a desperate need to do something, however I was in Seattle and the only thing I could think of was to put my uniform on and report to work, realising that things at the airport would be seriously disrupted. But first, I should drive over to see my dad.

My father had not been expecting to see me and certainly not in uniform. Replying to my query, he said no, he had not seen the news, so as I tried to explain, we went to turn on his TV. The towers were gone and the scene was one of utter chaos, but Dad seemed unaffected by it. I was relieved that he was not upset, while at the same time wondering what it would take to ever evoke emotion in him.

Perhaps after WW2, people became immune. I wondered how my mother would have reacted. She too was very stoic, but I had on rare occasions seen her get upset.

Before heading to the airport I decided to call my boss to let him know I would be available to help, but as he pointed out, there was just then none to give. There would be no flights to anywhere for the foreseeable future, thus no re-bookings or re-routings could be made. I was urged to take my week’s vacation and try to enjoy it.

Clearly, there was absolutely nothing I could have done. I was lucky to be out of it, lucky that I’d made a new life for myself out in Seattle where the affect of September 11th would be felt far less. So why did I feel like a deserter?

It didn’t matter what I felt for myself. My heart broke for the people involved.

.

The friend who was visiting was in town on a business trip which concerned aviation and under the circumstances, it was cancelled, thus he would have more time available.

We decided to get away to a quiet place, so he drove over to collect me and we went up to Mount Rainier where we spent the night.

.

We stayed at the Paradise Inn which before the later renovation, was very faded, but we weren’t looking for creature comfort that night. We must have had some sort of meal, after which we walked outside looking up into a starlit sky that was unique for the fact that not a single aeroplane was to be seen. That sky is normally crisscrossed with flightpaths. It was hard to know what to feel.

From the lobby came a haunting tune that someone picked out on an old out-of-tune piano:

The Battle Hymn of the Republic.

.