Losing September

At 8:30 that Tuesday morning, Lynn found herself working, as usual, in her office on Broadway Street. There was nothing special about the morning, except that perhaps it was exceptionally sunny and bright. A pleasant day, in other words. She had taken the subway to the nearest stop, not wanting to bother with traffic.

A tremendous explosion suddenly filled the air, the ears of every soul in the city.

People jumped out of their seats and went outside to see what the commotion was all about. Lynn joined them. Colossal towers of smoke rose from the south, splitting the sky in two. Those who were there moved closer to the towers of smoke, finding the source. Lynn stared, unbelieving, at the burning building. She found out later that day that even if she had tried to get back on the subway, it had already been shut down. She had taken the last subway allowed to go to that area that morning. A chill settled over the the group. They stared in shock, crying, unbelieving, until the second plane crashed. Now, they knew it was no accident.

Then, the second tower began to fall, before the first. White clouds of smoke billowed out and dipped downwards, rushing towards them. A police officer who had been attempting to control the pandemonium shouted one word: "Run!" And they did. But not far or fast enough. They were all enveloped by the debris.


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I am a veteran of the U.S. Marines that served on active duty from 1982-1994, in a large number of hot spots around the world, including the Persian Gulf.

I was walking around in Seattle, WA near the Federal building. For some time now, I had been smelling smoke, hearing screams. These images were so powerful that I could not ignore them. They branded themselves onto my brain. It was like they were there, but they weren't. No one else smelled or heard. I myself didn’t see anything. I was confused. I was thinking this was some sort of weird flashback to my experiences as a Marine on board a U.S. ship in the Gulf, or some other conflict.

I had had problems sleeping, mood swings, crying fits, for the last ten years, but did not want to go to the VA and get help. But they would only say “He’s crazy” and send me off to some institute somewhere. I almost did go, but in the end decided not to, at least for now.

I sort of came out of it when I was almost killed by one of those city bus, because I was wandering in the street. That was a real eye opener. Now I knew it was a flashback, or something, I was having. I had to get help.

I made my way to the Veteran’s Affairs clinic, where I was forced to pull out my driver's license so I could remember my name. I made an appointment for further treatment, and got some medication, as well as a job referral from a VA outreach program. Three weeks later, I was working for a legal firm, scanning documents for companies and firms in New York, mostly boring, pointless business matters or routine legal things. People that we called, and got called by, every day, worked in the World Trade Center.

September 11, I was at work. Some girl came into the room, saying World War III had started, and New York City had been hit. I remember thinking, "Screw her, it's not a military target like D.C., or the missile fields. She's probably just up too early and had too much coffee." But she kept crying and screaming. Everyone was running out the door, like animals in a stampede. I figured, "What's the point? Seattle is somewhere in the top 30 hit list for enemies, and if it's true, we got ourselves an hour to get out of town. We'd never make it with all this traffic. We'll be vaporized, toasted to a crisp." Finally, our supervisor came in, and told everyone to keep calm, go home, and try not to panic. Some people tried to keep working, but he told them, "We're closed, go home, you'll get a full day's pay." So I did.

By now, downtown was turned into a bedlam. Every bridge jammed, cars trying to go out on the inbound lanes, wrong way signs completely ignored. Total panic, pandemonium, end-of-the-world stuff. I thought, "Wow, this is what I trained for my whole 12 years in the service, and here it is. The real thing." And so, being there, I wasn’t scared. But the others sure as heck were.

I decided to walk, because it would be faster to go five miles on foot than to take a vehicle. All the while, looking up in the air, wondering if I would see the flash, through the clouds. People were running left and right. Nearly hitting each other with cars, horns honking. Bedlam. Chaos. Sirens. I walked into a restaurant that had a T.V. on in the lounge. I saw the WTC on the tube, burning. I thought, "Plane crash! Not a war, and the day off." No thought at all that the building would go. Then as we watched, the second plane came, LIVE, and went for the second tower. I KNEW, before it hit. Jihad. Holy war. US vs. THEM. No more long peaces. Everything had changed. The-World-Was-Going-To-Be-Very-Different-After-Today.

I thought, "Now maybe the civilians can understand what us military veterans had to go through, in combat." We watched, as people were diving out of the towers, just all the horrible stuff we have all seen of those images. A chill settled over the the group. People screamed.

I looked around, and said, "Now you can all wonder, 'Will I live through tomorrow?' Like I used to. Welcome to hell, welcome to war."

I then realized, my experience three weeks ago had been some kind of precognitive flash to these events. To this day, I believe that. I had similar experiences in the Gulf, that saved my life, many times. The VA says it is just a symptom of my illness. When I talk about it, they want me to increase my medication dosage. Shows you how much the VA knows.

U.S. Marine Veteran, now diagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder, at an 80% disability.


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The world went totally black and soundless. Lynn never heard the buildings fall, couldn’t see, hear, feel. Just smell and taste were left. She couldn’t breathe or think, nothing; the world just disappeared in an instant. She eventually made it out, and managed to get home. But she lost two things that day. She lost September forever. And her husband was a firefighter.