As the nation postures for a day of remembrance for the 10 year anniversary of September 11th, 2001 or more commonly known as “9/11” (nine eleven), I want to bring some attention to a group of people who deserve some acknowledgement.
Ground was broken for the Flight 93 National Memorial on November 8, 2009, and the first phase of construction is expected to be ready for the 10th anniversary of the attacks on September 11, 2011.
Most of us know, and have deep respect for, the depth of that tragic day where a series of coordinated suicide attacks by al-Qaeda upon the United States changed our nation forever. On that morning, terrorists hijacked four commercial passenger jet airliners. Two of the jets were intentionally crashed into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City, killing everyone on board and many others working in the buildings. Both towers collapsed within two hours, destroying nearby buildings and damaging others.
A third airliner crashed into The Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia, just outside Washington, D.C. and a fourth plane crashed into a field near Shanksville in rural Pennsylvania after some of its passengers and flight crew attempted to retake control of the plane. There were no survivors from any of the flights.
I have read that nearly 3,000 victims and the 19 hijackers died in the attacks. Among the victims were first responders, including firefighters and police personnel, and of course civilians just going about their day.
Over the past 10 years we have failed to recognize that there are those who remain among us the forgotten survivors of that day. These people happen to have a birth date or wedding anniversary of September 11th and they deserve to be remembered accordingly.
I write with firsthand knowledge of this particular conundrum. My father, James Lee Rainer, was born on September 11th, 1931. He was born in the small town of Newton, Mississippi. He was the second son but the first to live and was blessed with a little brother 3 years later. The town of Newton, Mississippi had a Civil War engagement made into a movie starring John Wayne called the “Horse Soldiers” where 1900 Union Cavalrymen dressed in Confederate uniforms traveled south from La Grange, Tennessee to Newton Station where they changed into Yankee Blue before raiding and destroying trains and railroad tracks that supplied ammunition and troops fighting the battle of Vicksburg. One hundred Union soldiers were buried near his grandfather’s farm in Newton.
Because of the depression, his childhood was of meager means. One month after his little brother arrived, their home was destroyed by a tornado on Thanksgiving evening 1934 around 8 p.m. My grandfather told that it sounded like a freight train with strong winds. With no storm shelter he placed my grandmother, my father, and my uncle on a mattress and with another mattress and him on top they survived a wild ride of 100 yards. The only injury was a gash on my grandfather’s head. My grandmother’s visiting grandfather, George Franklin Williams, was later found praying under a pyramid of debris. There was no recollection that he ever revisited. Since that day my father has been a little edgy when hearing of tornado warnings.
Rebuilding was slow but my grandfather was a carpenter and painter by trade and with the aid of a frugal and wise wife they had a temporary 2-bedroom house constructed of 12-inch-wide board and batten with a tin roof and outhouse privy. A few years later with remodeling that included running water and indoor facilities they enjoyed a normal childhood for southern boys of the forties.
My father graduated from high school, completed 1 ½ years of CPA schooling, and worked as a bellhop at the Robert E. Lee Hotel in Jackson, Mississippi. In February of 1951 he joined the United States Air Force for 4 years during the infamous Korean Conflict. After basic training in Wichita Falls, Texas he was selected as one of sixty airmen to be stationed in Santa Monica, California for 15 weeks of aircraft and engine mechanic training.
It was fate for him to be stationed in Santa Monica as this is where he met the love of his life, my mom Donna Flood. They met at a church gathering where lots of young women were in attendance at Sunday school. They had a very proper courtship 1950’s style, that included some patient long-distance waiting while dad was stationed Germany. After 2 years dad flew home for a 25-day leave and they were married on June 21st 1953 at the same church where they first met. The clan of Rainer-Flood’s was formed on that day and the nomenclature has given us a few giggles over the years.
Dad was sent to Chanute Air Force Base outside of Rantoul, Illinois for several months of schooling pertaining to specialized instrumentation and hands-on familiarization on how to disassemble, repair, and rebuild aircraft instrumentation. He was then assigned to the 86th Fighter-Bomber Wing (Neubiberg AFB, east of Munich Germany) under the direction of Master Sergeant John Harris who had worked on the instrumentation of the first atomic bomb at White Sands, New Mexico. His tour of duty was full of many experiences that he still recalls to this day. In February of 1955 he received his Honorable Discharge at Travis AFB in California where he reunited with his new bride.
Mom and dad settled into an apartment in Southern California; dad took a job at North American Aviation working the night shift while mom worked a day job at Prudential Life Insurance. They were young and happy and before they knew it they had started a family in February of 1956 when my only sibling, my brother, joined the family. Several months before I was to arrive in December of 1957 dad’s job took him to France and England where he installed modification kits on F-100 airplanes. I was 3 months old when he came home to stay and he went to work for Rocketdyne in Canoga Park, California. His 35 year career with Rocketdyne ranged from assembling and testing rocket engine components to writing manuals and working proposals for Apollo main engines and eventually to Space Shuttle Main engines. He worked hard and diligent as he tried to keep from being amongst the growing number of unemployed in Southern California. The days were long and tough for him but he stuck to it nonetheless. The 50’s turned into the 60’s, the purchase of a new home, the 70’s with my brother and me graduating from high school and then the 80’s with marriages and grandchildren. It was a whirlwind of activity to say the least.
In June of 1983 dad and mom were driving from Southern California to Durango Colorado to meet with his brother Bill and sister in-law Wanda for a vacation. Bill and Wanda drove from Wichita, Kansas. During the drive, mom started feeling ill so she rested in the back seat of their car where, unbeknownst to them, carbon monoxide was filling up the trunk and seeping into the passenger area via the back seat. She lost consciousness and paramedics treated her for what they thought was heart failure. She was in a coma for 14 days and doctors urged my dad to “pull the plug” as they felt she would only be a vegetable from that point forward. Dad could not and would not give up on her and did not allow them to persuade him otherwise. She came out of her coma but had to go through some basic physical therapy to relearn skills we all take for granted. Mom was only 50 years old when it happened and she has to this day never relearned to write the alphabet, dress herself, or do basic day-to-day activities. She has dementia with very little short term memory and at times her long term recall startles us as she remembers the lyrics to older songs. It takes a great deal of patience for us all but in particular for dad. Carbon monoxide poisoning changed all of our lives in an instant.
From 1983 until 2007 my dad cared for his wife with the ultimate example of the vows “till death do us part”. He was tasked with performing all of the household chores, cooking, cleaning, shopping, food preparation, etc. Added to his load were chores such as bathing mom, dressing her, and eventually changing diapers on her as the years passed. He was so loving and giving that he even painted her fingernails weekly and made sure that she was always wearing her favorite jewelry. There were even a couple of years during this time frame where his mother came to live with him in an attempt to keep her out of a nursing home as she was showing the onset of Alzheimer’s. Eventually my grandma was transferred to a home to receive the skilled care necessary for her disease and I saw that it, too, took some life out of my dad.
September 11th of 2001 was my dad’s 70th birthday. He was celebrating by playing golf with his brother and some of their regular golfing buddies when the news of the tragedy was broadcast on television at the golf course clubhouse. As a veteran and a true patriot, this event changed my dad’s outlook of his birthday from that point forward.
In 2005, dad and mom moved in with me and my husband to share our home with hopes of me assisting him in the care of mom. He was ever diligent in his care of her but in 2008 she became very ill and ended up in intensive care for a week at our local hospital. I had to make the tough decision to tell dad that she could not come home as we did not have the nursing abilities to care for her any longer. Mom has been in a nursing home for 3 years and the transition has not been easy on dad. He went from being a 24x7 caregiver to having nothing to do and it sent him into a temporary depression that made me thankful he was living in my house so I could reciprocate with caring for him. At first dad visited mom every day, 3 times per day, and although it was gallant of him, she did not know the difference. He now visits mom once a day and she thinks that he is there at all times so it eases him a bit that she is receiving good care. Mom is wheelchair-bound but little things make her happy and dad remains her true love.
Dad lost his only sibling in February of 2011 to a rare form of leukemia called Myelofibrosis, a disorder of the bone marrow, in which the marrow is replaced by scar (fibrous) tissue. It was a difficult loss for him compounded by the fact that he is the sole remaining member of his small family. I watch him every day as he goes through the motions of his 79th year of life and I know that not a day goes by that he relives the events of his life and ponders the future with sadness and uncertainty.
This September 11th 2011, will be my dad’s 80th birthday and he has already informed me that he does not want to celebrate it at all. For the past 10 years he has had a difficult time allowing us to celebrate his birthday and I am sad for him. As he turns 80 this year I am pensive of his special day being ignored as we are all reminded of the national tragedy. How many more birthdays will I have with him? How can we balance the loss of lives on that day 10 years ago with the happiness of achieving an 80 year milestone? I do not have the answer to this question but I do know that my dad is an unsung, everyday hero of the rarest kind in my eyes.
I love you dad, with all my heart.
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