September Morn

September has always been one of my favourite months. The heat of summer begins to disappear, jackets make their annual return, and leaves slowly transform into brilliant shades of red, orange and yellow. There is a freshness to September, a feeling of change and anticipation. At least there used to be.

Twenty-five years ago, on September 11, 2001, that changed forever.

It is difficult to believe a quarter of a century has passed since that terrible morning. An entire generation knows September 11 only through photographs, documentaries and history books. For those of us who lived through it, the memories remain painfully vivid.

For some of us, they are deeply personal. On September 10, I flew to Phoenix to meet friends and checked into the Legacy Resort. Tired from travelling, I spent a few hours photographing the countryside before turning in early.

Jet lag woke me around 5:30 the next morning. I switched on the television and saw smoke pouring from the World Trade Center. CNN was speculating that perhaps a small aircraft had accidentally struck the tower.

Then, as I watched live, a second jetliner flew into the other tower. At that instant, everything changed.

For me, there was another horrifying realization. Two dear friends were connected to the World Trade Center. Chuck worked there, as did Bernard, from Toronto.

I tried telephoning New York, but communications were virtually impossible. Flights across North America were grounded and the hotel became eerily quiet. Then came the news I had been dreading. Bernard had been on the 97th floor of the World Trade Center. He was gone.

Then I learned about Chuck. He had stopped at his office to pick up notes before heading to LaGuardia Airport. He never made it out. Even today, 25 years later, writing those words is difficult.

Thousands died that morning, each with families and friends waiting for a telephone call that would never come. For me, two of those people had names. Bernard and Chuck.

I remained stranded in Phoenix for six days. I drove to the Grand Canyon and Sedona, trying to escape the endless television coverage. Yet even surrounded by magnificent scenery, September 11 was never far from my thoughts. Eventually, I boarded an Air Canada flight home. I remember looking around the aircraft and realizing, the world had already changed.

Twenty-five years later, much of what followed has become normal. Airport security, surveillance, and an awareness of potential threats, are simply part of our lives. But anniversaries should not only be about terrorism, politics or security. They should be about people. Nearly 3,000 lives ended that morning, leaving thousands of unfinished stories, birthdays never celebrated, and friendships that suddenly became memories.

Twenty-five Septembers have come and gone. The leaves still change colour, and summer still gives way to autumn. September is still beautiful. But every September 11, I remember two dear friends who should have had another 25 years of their own. Bernard and Chuck never got them.

For me, September will never be the same.