I was nine months along with my son David. My husband was stationed at Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque, N.M.
I was doing what any woman 40 weeks prego would have been doing, sleeping a lot. My husband, Daniel, called me and told me to get up and turn on the TV. I flipped through to a new channel, and I was watching all the black smoke pouring out of this building. I had just woken up I didn’t know what was going on.
I told him, “Why did you wake me up to watch some ‘Die Hard’ movie?”
He said, “We’re being attacked, Jill!”
Just then the second plane hit. I was glued to the TV until the towers fell. I wondered what kind of nasty world was I bringing my son into.
The base went into lockdown mode. My husband wanted me to bring his phone and phone book to him. They wouldn’t even let me see him.
Just the night before my sister had her son, I wanted to go see her. It was hell just getting off the base. Hell have no fury like a red head determined to get her way — and a fat one to boot. I thought they were going to have to use the tank to keep me on the base.
After 9/11 the base stayed in lock down mode for a good five months. Daniel was worried about getting stop loss on all orders. (Which would make him unable to leave the service.)
Still to this day it’s heart breaking to think about how many families lost a love one.