Community Corner

9/11: In Their Own Voices: Carrie Jacobson

I've built today's Montville Patch in honor and remembrance of Sept. 11, 2001. Like the tolling of a bell, at 46 minutes after every hour, a new 9/11 story will take the top spot on the page.

Ten years ago, we were living in Bolster’s Mills, a tiny village in southwestern Maine. I was working in the town of Norway, running the regional operation of the Sun Journal, a newspaper based in Lewiston, Maine.

I arrived early at the office that day; I always did. It was almost 9 o’clock when one of the reporters called me, and told me that a plane had hit one of the towers of the World Trade Center. He said he thought it was a small plane, an accident, but I should know.

AS HARD AS IT IS TO BELIEVE, we had no TV set in the office. But it was just a little office doing local news for a small paper in western Maine. Until that moment, we hadn’t needed one.

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The computer system was rickety, and in Maine, especially 10 years ago, the Internet was rickety, too.

But I managed to get onto CNN’s website and I watched, in buffered horror, the photos and balky snatches of video coming from New York.

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Peter was here, in Connecticut, fishing. He was staying with my mother, and I was able to talk to them both. She is dead now, but her birthday was Sept. 12, and somehow that tinged these events even more for her. She needed to not be alone, and I was glad that Peter was with her.

We put out a special edition of the paper that afternoon, even in Maine, with AP pictures and stories, interviews with Mainers who had connections to New York City, to the World Trade Center, to terrorism experts.

I DROVE HOME THAT EVENING shaken and drained. I turned from Route 117 onto the Plains Road as the sun was setting. Halfway down the road, I passed a small house with a shady yard, and I watched as a young father reached out and took his small daughter’s hand and they walked across the yard together.

The shadows were long and blue. The air was clear, and the evening was cool, and there was a world of sadness and hope in this small scene.

Maybe that father would have reached out before 9/11, and helped his daughter across the lawn. Maybe he would have - but maybe the gesture would not have held as much meaning, as much simple poignance.

Right there, right then, I promised myself to live with all the vigor I could muster, every day. I promised myself not to overlook the small things, and never to fail to take my daughter's hand, or my husband's hand, or call my mother or my father, or tell my siblings and my friends how much I love them.

We all saw the aftermath. We all grieved. And we all remembered, for a moment, or an hour, or in a forever altering way, to live the very best life that we can, to show our love, listen to our hearts, and treasure every moment.

TODAY, THE MONTVILLE PATCH will be different than it usually is.

The first plane hit at 8:46 a.m., Sept. 22, 2001.

Today, at 46 minutes after each hour, from now until 8:46 tonight, the Montville Patch will feature a new 9/11 story. Some will be local. Some will not. Some will be long, some very short.

In my mind, today's Montville Patch will be the equivalent of the tolling of a bell, the sound of passing, the sound of honor, the sound of remembrance.


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