Photo and article by guest writer Amy Lloyd

Thank you, Flight 93: You died so that I might live.

It was 8:30 a.m. on the morning of September 11, 2001, and it started out just like a typical day in Congressman John Thune’s Congressional office on Capitol Hill. Lights still off, the aroma of coffee and the sound of the copy machine firing up for the busy day ahead, we soaked in the quiet before the storm of the phones ringing off the hook or the latest crisis while reading legislative briefings and writing House floor vote recommendations for the Congressman.

The office opened at 9 a.m. with a staff meeting to discuss the day’s legislative schedule, constituent meetings and press calls. A few minutes before the meeting was to start someone yelled, “Turn on the TV! The World Trade Center is on fire!” Instead of turning on our own desk TV’s, we rushed into the Congressman’s office and watched the news coverage together to discover the North Tower was struck by a plane. Was it an accident or was it a terrorist attack were the questions being asked by Congressman Thune and my fellow staffers, by the reporters on TV and by Americans all over the world. By 9:03 a.m., we knew the answer to the question when we watched a second plane hit the South Tower on live cable news.

We tried the best we could to brief the Congressman on the day’s schedule. When we were almost done, my husband Matt called the main line of the office insisting to talk to me. He was across the Potomac River near the Pentagon in Arlington, VA, to get our car serviced. “Great,” I thought to myself, “It’s probably a hefty repair.” When I got to the phone he was panicked.

He saw a low-flying plane overhead, felt the ground shake and heard the impact of Flight 77 crash into the Pentagon. “Evacuate! Get out of there! Just. Get. Out!”

The TV coverage changed to split-screen live video of the attack on America. We decided as a staff we needed to figure out where to go and what to do. The problem was no one knew. My clearest memory of 9/11 to this day was our legislative director on the phone with the U.S. Capitol Police yelling, “What do you mean you don’t know where to send the Congressman? What do you mean you don’t know what we’re supposed to do?”

We decided to evacuate to our chief of staff’s Capitol Hill apartment a few blocks away. The Capitol Complex was formally evacuated shortly thereafter. When we arrived at his place, we learned of the plane that crashed in Somerset County, PA. Some of us tried to make phone calls, but everything was jammed with all of Washington trying to call loved ones. The entire city was under evacuation.

Congressman Thune’s wife, Kimberley, was with us. She rarely travelled to Washington, DC, but she was providentially with us on that day and provided a calming presence for us all. The press secretary’s email and voicemail was full from reporters in South Dakota wanting to speak to Congressman Thune. She set up a conference call and while he spoke to the reporters we all sat there listening, still in disbelief.

The following days revealed that there was a good chance Flight 93, the plane that crashed upside-down almost 600 miles per hour into the Somerset County field in Pennsylvania, was headed for the U.S. Capitol, where I was working.

In the immediate wake of the tragedy, we experienced a coming-together of Americans more than I have experienced in my short lifetime. Americans returned to churches and temples and prayed for our nation. Men and women felt moved to join the U.S. Armed Forces to protect our country and fight for freedom. Republicans and Democrats worked together like no other time in contemporary politics. Amidst the tragedy and the mourning, there was a sweet fellowship of solidarity.

Every year on 9/11, I thank God for the ordinary people that courageously acted to prevent Flight 93 from making it to the Capitol.

But, as the years go by, I wonder if the tragedy of the day has become lost. In recent years, I returned to school to study music. As a graduate student last year I sat in a classroom on 9/11 surrounded by students 20 years younger than me. The weather was exactly how it was on 9/11, a beautiful morning. The professor lectured on instrumental music of the seventeenth century while I acted like I was paying attention, but instead was deep in thought doing the math on how old my classmates were on 9/11 and if they even remember it. I decided that day to take our children to the Flight 93 National Memorial as soon as we could make it happen.

This past July we finally visited the Memorial. As we approached the visitor’s center, there was a Park Ranger at a small exhibit explaining the various areas of the park. She asked after her short speech if there were any personal stories that people wanted to share from 9/11. I told them that I was in the Longworth House Office Building on 9/11. A woman looked at me and said, “Those people saved your life.” I could barely speak, “I’ve always wanted to come here.”

We walked to the overlook before going into the visitor’s center. On the glass of the balcony is the quote; “A common field one day. A field of honor forever.” Matt asked me if I wanted to take a photo, but I couldn’t do it. This was hallowed ground. It was a powerful moment standing there looking down the hill at the boulder that is at the crash site.

I just kept thinking over and over: “They died so that I might live. They died so that I might live.” Seventeen years of life and living since September 11, 2001 flashed before me in my thoughts in a matter of minutes as I stood in that spot.

I realized maybe my children might not have been born had the plane made it to the Capitol. And, as a Christian, one who believes that Jesus Christ, the son of God, died so that I might live, I realized it was the most poignant symbol of my faith that I could ever experience on this side of eternity.

On Sunday, the Flight 93 National Memorial dedicated its new Tower of Voices chime structure including a wind chime to represent each of the 40 lives of the passengers and crew on Flight 93. Their voices will not and cannot be forgotten.

Thank you Flight 93: You died so that I might live.

You died so that 35,000 Americans at the U.S. Capitol might live.

You died so that America might live.

We will never forget.

This article is written by Amy Lloyd. Amy served as a legislative assistant for three Members of Congress from 2000-2006. She is now a singer, speaker and teacher based out of Southern Maryland near Washington, DC. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram: @Lloyd_Amy_. For bookings, go to www.amylloydmusic.com.

The post Thank You, Flight 93. You died so that I might live. appeared first on Stories of Our Boys.

Tuesday, September 11, 2001

I was supposed to get up at 7:30 to be at work at 8:30 that morning, but I overslept, such a typical college student I was…Instead, I woke up at 9:10am for my 10am Anatomy and Physiology class. I had put off my shower long enough that it was non-negotiable that morning.

You see, I was a junior at the University of Alabama, and I had the hard-earned privilege of a private room, thanks to my job as a resident assistant in the largest freshman dormitory on campus, Tutwiler Hall.

I had my radio on while I was getting ready. Before I got into the shower, the D.J. mentioned that an airplane had crashed into the World Trade Center (north tower).

I paused in consternation. “What!? Weird.” That was puzzling, but I went ahead and took my shower.

The thing I will never forget is that moment when I got out of the shower, and I had my towel wrapped around me like a dress, and the man on the radio told us about the 2nd airplane hitting the other tower (south tower).

I immediately sat down.

“Whoa Whoa Whoa Whoa Whoa. Wait. What? What is happening?”

I listened intently. I don’t know why it never occurred to me to turn on my t.v. to watch coverage of this. It’s like I was stuck in 1930, listening to my personal stereo. I suppose I was too shocked to think anything at all besides, “What is happening?? Are we at war? What will happen next??”

My Fall 2001 Journal.

They didn’t have much more information to give us that morning. What could they say? Unsure what else to do, I went about my normal routine.  I put my clothes on in a daze and walked the half-mile to my anatomy class, hoping to hear some reassuring words or just more information, from my professor.

Instead, I entered what felt like the Twilight Zone. Seemingly, no one in my class had any idea that it had happened. Probably they didn’t. The professor certainly didn’t know. He taught class as usual, and I absorbed absolutely nothing that Dr. Graham said.

Have you ever felt like you knew the world was ending, and no one around you had a clue?

And you start to wonder if you misunderstood? That one hour, on 9/11/01, I felt that way, which is funny because I was normally the one who was notorious for not being up on current events. Watching the news wasn’t my thing. I’ve always been more of a bookworm than a t.v. person.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I arrived to my 11am class, Psychology Research Methods, and the professor marched in and canceled class. Finally! I didn’t imagine all of this! I’m not crazy. This really did happen. Now I was free to talk about it.

There was a resident on my floor, named Stacy, who was from New York City. I had a burning urgency in my chest to get ahold of her. I left her notes on her door, I looked for her, I called her, and I prayed and hoped her parents didn’t work at the Towers.

She found me that afternoon and reassured me that all of her folks were present and accounted for. It wasn’t easy back then. This was 2001. Most of us did not have cell phones, and the regular lines were jammed with so many people calling that I heard reports that it was hard to get a call through.

Stacy told me this story:

“My parents are good. Everyone is fine. Even my aunt! This is incredible because this is the 2nd time my aunt has been rescued from harm in the towers. My aunt works in the WTC, but she had gone across the street to get coffee this morning. She saw the crash happen from a window and went straight home from there. My aunt is a faithful prayer warrior, and she says God has protected her, and it was not her time to go yet. She was spared once before, during the 1993 WTC bombing. She happened to be at home sick with the flu that day.”

Then Stacy went home to New York City to be with her people for the rest of that week. It was just as well. She didn’t miss anything.

The world stood still that week. 

Airplanes were grounded. Ball games were canceled. Tests were postponed. Candles were lit everywhere. You couldn’t walk a mile on campus without running across candles or a group of praying people.

I’ll never forget holding hands in a giant circle on the University of Alabama quad. There must have been 100 or more of us, both teachers and students. There were Jews, Christians, and agnostics all standing there praying together, between classes. We sang hymns too, though I don’t recall which ones. It was an empowering thing to be a part of.

In my journal that day, I wrote that “What worries me is–what if more awaits for tomorrow–or next week.”

My actual journal entry. Yes, you can laugh at me about the Pentagon bomb, but it was early, and I didn’t have all the facts straight yet.

I was only 20 years old at the time. I was a full-time student with 2 part-time jobs. Alan was just a guy in a group of friends that I ate lunch with on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

After 9/11, I looked at Alan differently.

On Wednesdays, the ROTC cadets wore their uniforms all day long, so the day after 9/11, I saw Alan in his uniform at lunch. Alan was the top ranking cadet at Alabama. He was an impressive looking young soon-to-be-officer in the United States Army, standing at 6 foot 3, 225 pounds, in his size 15 combat boots. Alan has a strong jaw line and an air of authority and strength about him, but once you get to know him you realize that he is also exceedingly kind, reasonable, disciplined, and even funny.

I asked him how he felt about all this.

Alan was so business-like and serious in his response to my question.  He said matter-of-factly, “We are always ready to go to war and defend this country, to keep Americans safe and defend our freedom. Always ready.”

“You’re not worried? This will affect you directly. You aren’t afraid?”

“No. This is what we train for. I can’t wait to go.”

Maybe that was the day I started to like him, though I didn’t know it at the time. At the very least, it was the day I began to deeply respect him.

a Crimson White clipping I saved from those days after 9/11

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How September 11 would affect us

The already married military spouses knew they would soon be called upon to make humongous sacrifices.

As we watched all the sacrifices that the firemen, policemen, and rescue workers were making on 9/11 and the time following, we held our breath with them. We cried for them.

How could I know that someday my children and I would make sacrifices too, and that so many families would give all?

When you are enduring hardships for your country, like sending your husband overseas for months on end, over and over again, you need a good reason for that. 9/11 is always the reason I remind myself of.

When Daddy misses a whole year of birthdays….that’s for 9/11.

When I ate my 1 year anniversary wedding cake alone…..9/11.

When Christmas feels lonely……..9/11.

When I had to shepherd my son through the confusing and scary seizures and testing for epilepsy without my husband there to share the burden…….9/11.

And I remember what Alan said in 2001. It held true for all of these years, though no one ever wants war. War is a horrible thing, but on that day the terrorists attacked us first. They left us no choice.

“We are always ready to go to war and defend this country, to keep Americans safe and defend our freedom. Always ready,” and I am proud to be the flip-flops back home, supporting the boots on the ground overseas.

This is just the beginning of my series of The Real Army Wives, stories from the home front of the War on Terrorism. 

The next installment: It was Time to Meet the Army

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Were you already a military spouse or have a compelling 9/11 story to tell? I’d love to share it on Storiesofourboys.com. Please send your submission to april@storiesofourboys.com. Feel free to just send me your article or just your idea to see if it fits in with what I have planned. Thank you!

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