It was a
delightful early fall day twelve year ago as I walked into my office on I
Street NW in Washington D.C. I arrived
early to get a jump on a new project. I
had only been working a few minutes when the PR manager came into my office to
tell me that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center.
“How the
hell did that happen,” was my response.
We watched the replays on the TV.
I remember Katie Couric’s shaking voice trying to sort out what
happened. And then we saw another plane hit the other tower. I shook my head and went back to my office,
knowing that I would have plenty of time to hear what was happening that night
on the news.
As a
working mom, I didn’t have a lot of flexibility in my day. I focused on the work that I had to finish. About
45 minutes later, the organizations’ director asked all employees to come into
the conference room. She told us about
the plane that crashed into the Pentagon and that all planes were being
grounded immediately. She asked us all
of get our personal things and leave the building. We were to call to our manger when we arrived
safely home.
Cell
phones were not working, so used the office phone to call my husband before I
left and told him that I was headed home.
Then I called my sister, who worked about six blocks away and told her I
would call her when I got home. She was
going to be in the office longer, so she said she would call our mom to let her
know of the plans.
Although
the Metro line were running underground out to Maryland, I knew that getting
trapped underground with be hell on earth for me, so I opted to walk up Rhode
Island Avenue to the first Metro stop that was above ground. About three blocks into my walk, I heard a
woman screaming and weeping. She was yelling
into her phone, one of the towers collapsed and now people are jumping out of
the building.
“Oh dear
God, please be with them,” was my prayer.
And as I walked, I had a sudden sense that the people who died that day
did not die alone. I had this image in
my mind of the sky being filled with a brilliant light brought by thousands and
thousands of angels who were mightily at work that day. As people jumped there were securely caught
by angels who accompanied them, body and soul to the ground and then flew with their
souls to the next world.
I don’t
know what the Catholic Church specifically teaches about death and angels, but
those images comforted me on that day. I
have the firm convection that as we transition from this life to the next,
whether in a sudden, violent death or in one that takes weeks or months, we
will not be alone.
I haven’t
ever watched the film footage of people jumping out of that building on that
tragic day. In fact, I have not watched footage from that day for years. I am thankful for the gift of supernatural
hope that in death we are accompanied by angelic friends.
