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(Note: This essay was previously published in the Havana Herald in 2008.  I took these photos at the make-shift memorial of ground zero in New York City.)

I had just pulled up to school in East Los Angeles when I heard the radio announcement about the attack on the World Trade Center.  Within seconds, I realized that my nephew who worked there might have lost his life.  I went to sign-in at the office and ended up crying.  The assistant principal pulled me into her office and explained that her daughter was at the Pentagon, and that it had been hit, as well.  She appeared calm and professional as always and told me to make a decision on whether to go home or stay and teach.  I did not have a family of my own at that time, so I decided to teach my first grade students.

There was a rumor around school that more planes were headed to Los Angeles.  The planes that hit the World Trade Center were outbound flights for LAX.  Our large inner city school was located directly below the heavy incoming flight pattern for LAX.  In fact, when the government cleared the skies of all planes, walking across the school yard became surreal with the silence.  In times of natural disasters or emergencies, teachers become the wards of the students until their parents pick them up.  I went to teach class and to defend my students and school from harm.

The rumor was so believable given the day’s events that our principal went missing and was later reported to have locked herself in a closet.  Nevertheless, school functioned without her.  A few parents came to pick up their children.  I remember starting the day off by showing a map of the United States to my class.  I wanted them to understand how far away the attacks had occurred in order for them to feel less anxious.  They had many misconceptions of what was going on fueled by the fact that they were limited English speakers.  For example, they thought the continuous instant replay on television that morning of the second plane going into the tower was actually many planes not just one.  I speak Spanish and was able to translate the basic information on the attacks.

In the classroom, we discussed what was going on in New York.  Unfortunately, some of my students had seen graphic images of people jumping to their deaths on the Spanish news channel, Telemundo, that morning.  It was extremely difficult not to cry in front of them.  I had to be strong, so that they could feel safe.  I didn’t tell them about the rumors nor explain what an attack of this magnitude would mean to our country and the world.  East Los Angeles is a tough neighborhood.  Its teachers are prepared for earthquakes, lock downs, and multiple casualties.  As a returned Peace Corps Volunteer, I have more survival skills than the average person; however, I didn’t know how to prepare for war.

Students were actually allowed outside for recess, and I headed to the teachers’ break room to make a few calls to learn about my nephew’s whereabouts. Teachers were watching the latest news on the attacks on a TV someone had brought into the room.  I learned that my nephew was alive because he went to work late.  Later I found out that  he was just getting out of a cab when the first plane hit.  He fled Manhattan on foot along with the mass exodus through the ashes.  He escaped physical harm but bears the burden of witnessing a heinous crime against humanity.

The day after 9-11, the Los Angeles Times printed images of people jumping out of the Twin Towers.  The images on television news coverage kept me in tears for weeks, as more information was given about the attacks.  It sent me into a depression for several months.  The summer after 9-11, I visited my nephew who lives in New York and saw Ground Zero.  The make-shift memorial remained with faded images of the missing.  Fresh notes were messages to those who were missed on their birthdays or anniversaries.  I photographed the memorial to share with future students in my classroom.

In retrospect, I realized that my family’s story created a hypotenuse that connected some of us to the targeted areas.  The hypotenuse of 9-11 began from the targeted areas and ran across the nation and the world.  Later on I learned that another nephew was a first responder to the attack on the Pentagon.  He was a National Guardsman from Alabama who was being trained in Washington for special duty at the Walter Reed Army Hospital.  His duty that day was to place the injured into three areas: the dead, the dying, and those that would survive.  He had not seen war until that day.  My deepest sympathy to all the individuals affected on that day, and my heart-felt gratitude to all of the first responders and unsung heroes.

Sandra Annette Rogers