a somber moment in time

“It’s the end of the world as we know it.

And I feel fine…”

Unlike the guys from R.E.M., the rock band that belted those memorable lyrics back in the ‘80’s, I’m feeling anything but fine right now.

Without a doubt, at the moment that first hijacked jetliner hurtled into the World Trade Center at 8:48 a.m. Tuesday, the world as we know it ended.

It will never, ever be the same.

By now, we’ve seen the pictures, read the stories, heard the eyewitness accounts, and cringed at the film footage as we crowded reverently and incredulously around the television.

Tragic seems far too hollow a description.

This cowardly act of terrorism is incomprehensible and horrific.

Why anyone would take innocent lives defies all logic, but one of the inescapable lessons of life is that you can’t reason with irrational people filled with hatred.

I firmly believe in the inherent goodness of mankind, but what little bit of innocence was left in the world disappeared Tuesday morning in that flash of fire, the fulfillment of a fanatic’s misbegotten dream.

As the days unfold and the facts become known, our leaders will be mightily tested, and their responses will determine the future of our nation and the world.

Indeed, every single one of us will be tested because this heinous act was a crime not just against our democracy but against all that is good.

September 11, 2001.

Where were you when you first heard the horrifying news?

The word came quickly to our campus on a bright, peaceful morning.  

One moment, we were thinking about the first round of tests or the football game at Mills Godwin.  

The next, we saw the surreal images now etched in memory another painful reminder that real life can be anything but fair.

The Collegiate community, caring and totally supportive, rose to the occasion, just as it always does.

Those with friends or relatives in New York City or the D.C. area or in the air made anxious phone calls.  

We shared their concern and offered words of comfort when the answers didn’t readily arrive.  

Then, when their loved ones were located and found to be safe,  

We breathed an immense sigh of relief.

Our fourth graders, headed by bus to Mt. Vernon, were contacted en route and instructed to return.

The Middle and Upper Schools held separate assemblies to inform and comfort, to remind our children that in the arms of the school community and their families they are safe despite the dangers in the world.

In an emotional sense, we’re navigating uncharted waters.  We’ve dealt with tragedy before, but never on this scale. 

It’s all right to be confused and scared and rely on each other for support.

Faculty, administrators, counselors brought their usual calming presence in a time of uncertainty in an effort to contain the “drama contagion,” but it never came.

Teachers conducted their classes as best they could, but this was a day for reflection, for dealing with emotions rather than facts from a textbook.

After-school activities, games, and practices were suspended to allow families to be together and for parents simply to hug their children.  

The school community is important in times of trouble.  Nothing, however, is more important than the family.

Throughout the day, there was a tone of concern, of solemnity.

The exit was orderly, subdued, respectful.

This was not just serious business. 

It was a sadly transcendent event that we will carry with us forever.

Several years ago, my mother, now 85, traveled to Hawaii to visit the memorial to the Americans who died at Pearl Harbor. 

She later went to Normandy and saw the beaches where the Allies of “The Greatest Generation” landed on D-Day and the cliffs they so nobly scaled. 

Finally, she paid tearful homage to their memories at the American cemetery overlooking the English Channel.

“When I visited those monuments,” she told me Tuesday, “I had the feeling that I finally had closure.

“Then, to have this horrible thing happen…

“Now, I don’t know if I’ll ever have closure.”

Will any of us?