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It started out like any other morning, chaotic and disorganized, with our two young daughters screaming for attention as my wife and I got ready for work. That’s when the phone rang, a call that would change our lives forever. It was Sept 11, 2001, and the call was from my parents in India telling us that a plane had hit one of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. An accident, I suppose, perhaps a light plane hitting one of the towers, nothing to worry about. The twin towers were built to withstand that, I assured myself. I turned the TV on, more to watch the sensation and excitement rather than watch history unfold before my own eyes. As I watched in horror, I saw a second plane, one that looked like a commercial airliner hit the second tower. Agony, dismay, fear, helplessness and every other extreme emotion was caught within me.
Everything I ever knew about America would change that day. We would live in a different America, a changed emotional and political landscape, a land scarred by this blatant attack. In days to come, we would become strangers in our adopted homeland, sometimes hated by our own fellow citizens. In our faces, they saw the faces of the monsters that destroyed their most beloved landmark of capitalism and free market; the spirit of American freedom; the very essence of Americana. And it was during those days that followed 9/11 that I started my unapologetic and profound love affair with America; its people and all it stands for.
Yes, I remember the grocery store clerk who asked me to go back to where I came from if I hated this country so much; yes, I remember the dirty looks from fellow passengers on a flight to Washington DC; yes, I remember an armed forces veteran on that flight who told me that his love for America could not allow him talk to me, when I said hello to him while boarding the flight. Yes, despite that, I fell in love with America. Because for every aspersion cast at me, there were many more experiences where people showed genuine love; the folks standing in line behind me at the grocery store who expressed shock at the words of the clerk, the flight attendants on Delta Airlines who apologized to me for how I was being treated by some of my fellow passengers and the kind gentlemen who questioned the patriotism of the veteran who so openly displayed hate towards someone he did not know. Yes, I told myself, I had picked a great country to call my new home. It was indeed the land of the free and the home of the brave!
And then came September 11, 2003:
My wife, pregnant with our third child, and I, watched our second daughter, Meera, fast asleep in her hospital bed on the med/surg floor of Rady Children’s Hospital in San Diego. The night before, we were told by emergency room physicians that she had a golf ball sized malignant brain tumor; that a major surgery was imminent and they could not tell us whether she would make it alive. Ironically, that day, my wife had started the third trimester of her pregnancy with our son.
Our daughter, Meera, was born on April 7, 2001, and when she emerged into this world, she took my breath away. The nurse was holding a baby in her hand that could only be described as perfect in every way, but most importantly, a girl instead of a boy that we were expecting. A gorgeous girl who would continue to surprise us throughout her life! When I held her for the first time, I felt like I was touched by an angel. We made plans for her – she would grow up to be crowned Ms. USA, become an attorney, fight for all things good and noble in this world, but most of all she would grow up to be a beautiful young lady, one who would make us so proud. In that short fleeting moment, I even dreaded the day I would have to give her away in marriage to someone who I know I would not like because he was stealing her away from me! She would be loved and revered and blessed and held and loved some more. Nothing would ever happen to her. At that moment in time, she was invincible; we were invincible and supremely blessed and fortunate.
Less than three years later, I sat in a desolate hospital room dreading whether I would have to carry her in a casket to her final resting place instead of giving her away in marriage. We looked helplessly at our daughter, hooked to an IV drip, dreading the moment when the surgeon would walk in and tell us what we were not prepared to hear. On one hand we were looking forward to the arrival of our son, yet on the other we were planning the possible demise of our daughter. Our sorrow and despair cannot even be captured in words.
We had spent the previous night recapping our life with her; from the time my wife gift wrapped the positive pregnancy test and left it on my office desk for me as a present; the joy her birth brought to us, the blessings she bestowed upon us, her angelic face and her zest for life, even for someone so young. We thanked God for letting us have her for two years. We made peace with God to let Him take His child back, hoping only that we had not let Him down; that we had taken care of her like He wanted us to! Little did we realize then that our life with her had just begun!
Yes, on September 11, 2003, Meera was reborn. The angel who came into our life on April 7, 2001, left us that day, leaving behind a parting gift of hope, survival and a very special child. After the longest four hours of our life, Meera emerged from the operating room and was wheeled into ICU. Her neurosurgeons told us that she did really well during the procedure and they got the tumor out. They warned us that the journey of a lifetime was just about to begin.
We realized that for Meera to survive, we had to believe that she would, that we had to instill the strength in her to fight all odds, that we had to believe that she would survive this journey before she could, that we had to make peace with the part of us that died that day, and the part that was born. And so began our journey of hope, love, support and reconciliation. From the ashes of despair rose the phoenix of hope.
The two 9/11s:
The time following 9/11/2001 also signifies the phoenix that rose from the ashes of the twin towers, part of the pentagon and the field near Johnstown, PA and made Americans appreciate what they had and how vulnerable life could be. As Americans, for that matter as a civilization, we were horrified, angry, helpless, dismayed and embittered. However, even throughout that time, we found resolve, dignity, hope, support, resilience and compassion. We felt a mix of emotions we never felt we could experience. Anger in one instance, followed by compassion and a true appreciation for the human spirit in another! Like America, our Meera would never be the same again, she would be scarred for life; like America, our Meera was holding on to dear life in the days after her surgery, not knowing what was fated for her; like America, our Meera slowly hobbled back to life; like America, our Meera showed the spirit and tenacity to survive and like America, our Meera emerged stronger than she ever was before. And America and Meera together taught our family the importance of compassion, of being thankful, of not taking anything for granted and of the spontaneity of life.
So, 9/11 is a bittersweet day for us! We remember 9/11/2001 with a great deal of sadness and pain and we remember 9/11/2003 with a great deal of joy and hope. The former saddens the Americans in us; the latter gladdens the family that was allowed to be!
And yet, we have shared emotions for both days. We have become more hopeful, more forgiving, more pragmatic, more tolerant and more vigilant. We have learned to love indiscriminately. We have vowed to never take things for granted. We appreciate every day for the joys it brings us. We go to bed every night, thankful for the day we had, and wake up every morning, hopeful for the day ahead of us. We kiss our children every morning and wish them a happy birthday! Life, in all its complexities has become simpler in many ways; people, in general, seem kinder, more hopeful. We are raising our children to understand the meaning of freedom, of being privileged Americans, of advanced citizenry, to be born in a family and a country that appreciates them for who they are, not what society expects of them. But in the ultimate analysis, 9/11 has taught us the importance of unconditional love, whether it is for your country or your family, for it is only that love that will stand the test of time and allow us to overcome all our setbacks and obstacles!
God bless America and God bless all who call it home!
P.S. Meera is a beautiful 25-year-old and despite some developmental delay and physical impediments that are a result of trauma to her brain, she continues to amaze us in every way. Meera was crowned Ms. Global Asia India and walked New York Fashion Week in 2022 for the House of Barretti. In 2023, at the Global Women’s Festival in Seattle, WA, the directors created an award called the MEERA (Most Exceptional Endurance and Resilience Award), in honor of Meera’s journey, and is annually given to women who have suffered trauma and emerged victorious. Every step of her journey until today has provided us with a mirror in which to see our own reflection, to see what we are made of, to find purpose and happiness, to find lessons, to learn, to live and ultimately to spread joy in the world that supported us when we needed it the most; our tribe that helped us raise our children. We prayed hard that the Creator gives Meera a second chance at life — to let her be like other teenagers are to their parents, and He graciously obliged. Meera is peppy and full of life, opinionated and with an attitude to match. We are blessed beyond our wildest imagination.
Disclaimer: The opinions and views expressed in this article/column are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of South Asian Herald.
