My Reflections of 9/11.

Like many of you probably did ten years ago, I watched with horror as two planes collided into the World Trade Center Twin Towers.  My first thought was that both of my Half-sisters in New York were dead.  One worked in Building One, and the other worked in Building Seven. 

I frantically called for hours trying to get word of their status, and it wasn't until 11:00 PM that my older sister called me back and told me of her ordeal.  She watched with disbelief as people plunged to their death from the windows of the WTC.  Those images still haunt us both today.  I can't think about those people without weeping openly as I am doing now.

That was also the first day I ever gave blood.  I went to Lutheran General Hospital and the line to donate blood started at the main entrance and wrapped around the building.  As I waited, I saw a gentleman walk in solemnly.  He kept his eyes to the ground the whole time he was in line.  This gentleman was of Islamic background.  He had the typical middle-eastern type beard, clothing, and head covering.  At first, I looked at him with rage in my heart, but then I realized, what a great amount of courage it took for him to venture out to donate blood on that terrible day.

He could have easily been beaten savagely by the crowd or killed.  It was at that exact minute I decided that if he had the Intestinal Fortitude to stand in line to give blood, I'd defend him to the death if necessary.  His presence in that line, at least to me, proved that he too was an AMERICAN!  Thankfully, nobody tried to bother him, and nobody said a negative word to him.

That is the memory I will carry with me to the grave about the attack on America on September 11, 2001.  The quiet Middle-eastern man who came to give blood for the victims of 9/11.  As far as I'm concerned, he too was a hero in my book.