I was teaching English composition in the old Patton Building at Blue Ridge Community College in Flat Rock, North Carolina, when the first plane hit. I had no idea what was happening, no smart phones or classroom laptops connected to the internet notifying anyone of anything immediately, so I was just teaching an early morning class like any other day. When I dismissed the class, I walked down the steps, out the door, and down the sidewalk to the General Studies Building that no longer exists. (It was demolished on purpose a few years ago to make way for the bigger and better, they said.)

When I opened the door to GS, I almost ran into my boss. Normally easy going and laid back, he was barreling through the door, his eyes wide. We stopped and he told me what he knew, something had smashed into one of the Twin Towers in New York. He informed me that his radio was on in his office if I wanted to know more, then ran off to spread the news, a 21st Century Paul Revere.

I wasn’t truly comprehending his words, but remembering the look on his usually calm face led me directly to his office, my textbooks and student essays still in my arms. As I listened to the radio, the chaos and horror began to emerge as the reporters relayed detailed descriptions of the carnage and of the brave survivors and first responders who immediately came to rescue those they could. Observers had few answers at first, not even knowing exactly what had smashed into the tower. Was it a missle? A plane? How many people were injured? How many had died? Surely, it had been an accident. No one would do such a thing on purpose. Not here in America. My boss came back into his office. We listened in silence. Soon enough we knew the truth of what was happening when the second plane hit the other tower. We must be under attack.

Someone came by the office and said that the Spanish instructor had cable TV in her room, showing live reports from New York. We both went to her room. Every seat was taken and students lined the walls, some sat in the floor. I stood against a back wall, next to a young man, a non-traditional age student. Later I found out he was a veteran. As we watched, horrified, the first tower fell; gasps went up from the crowded room. Teachers and students began to weep. The student next to me said, quietly, calmly, Somebody is going to pay.

After that everything is muddled in my memory, but I know that I stayed in the room with my colleagues and students as reports came in that left no doubt the biggest terrorist attack in our nation’s history was playing out–the pentagon was hit, all aircraft were ordered to land, the second tower collapsed, and Flight 93 crashed in Pennsylvania.

Widespread panic never set in at our college. Perhaps we were too shocked or simply didnt know what we could do or say. Some instructors canceled classes (I did). Others felt the best thing to do was continue the day as normal. I understand that, too. I might have done the same under other circumstances, but I had a young child. When I overheard that her elementary school had received a bomb threat (turned out to be a rumor), my mother bear instincts kicked in. I drove to the school, found out there was no threat, informed those on duty what had happened, and checked our daughter out from school anyway.

I just felt better having her safe with me.

As facts emerged and rumors flourished in the days, months, and years that followed, I would tell my students the story of what I heard and saw that morning in the very rooms where I taught — how we watched together, teachers and students alike, trying to make sense of the terror unfolding before us. I told them how our fear turned to anger at the harm done to innocent people, and how our sorrow deepened into respect for the men and women who risked or lost their lives to help their neighbors, without hesitation and without regard for differences. I remember how the world reached out to us, how for a time we stood unified in grief, in resolve, and in our shared humanity.

I find myself wishing we could return to that spirit. Lord, let us come together again and do what is right and good. Let our students learn from us what true bravery and courage look like — the courage to stand with one another, to protect what is just, and even when division feels easier, to choose unity instead.