When we built community

We arrived at the check-in counter 45 minutes early for our cross-country flight to North Carolina. My soon-to-be husband and I were in a half-hearted argument. He thought we should've allowed more time. Ever the procrastinator, I said 30 minutes was plenty.

It seems so silly now. But it was Sept. 10, 2001. Airport security consisted of a question at the ticket counter.

I was mentally checking my to-do list for our wedding five days later: The spreadsheet of guests' arrival times, transportation needs, lodging plans. The still-to-be-scheduled manicure. Had I packed what I needed for the honeymoon in Italy? And did the travel agent really book us in a room with twin beds?

It all seemed petty the next morning, when a gorgeous, lovely-to-be-alive Tuesday quickly filled with scenes of smoke and chaos, fear and death. Something evil knocked America to its knees that day, and despite Osama bin Laden's death, it haunts us still.

All of us know now what a terrorist attack looks like, what it smells and feels like, what it does to our psyche. Life even now is tinged with uncertainty, with paranoia. Sadly, the sense of unity and goodwill that marked those dark days no longer exists.

When I remember my wedding, it's impossible not to think of the horror that week. In my photo album, along with pictures of my grinning, tuxedo-clad nephew, is the front page of the Sept. 12 New York Times.

It's still hard to look at the images - people in business suits stumbling through smoky New York City streets, falling from towers on fire, being carried on stretchers - without getting a knot in the stomach. It's hard, too, knowing what came next: the giant, smoldering pile at Ground Zero, the war in Afghanistan, the inconveniences in the name of security and, eventually, the divisiveness.

In the days immediately after the attacks, as the death tolls in New York City, Washington, D.C., and Pennsylvania became clearer, Americans' anguish gave way to anger and an overpowering urge to exact justice.

I was angry, too, but partly for selfish reasons: The terrorists had messed up my day.

We had been expecting guests from a dozen states. My maid of honor was coming from southern California; my fiance's family from Washington state; the best man would be returning from a business trip to New York City.

But except for fighter jets patrolling occasionally, the skies were eerily silent. For days. Long enough to ensure that my fiance's family wouldn't make it, nor would friends in California and Colorado. As cancellations trickled in from every corner of the country, I had to keep reminding myself that I was lucky. So many people were suffering, mourning, waiting for someone who would never come home. But everyone I loved was safe.

Flags were everywhere: outside businesses, in store windows, atop pickup trucks and spotlighted on front doors. A friend in Florida called from the road, complaining that every store had sold out of the Stars and Stripes. As he made his way north on Interstate 95, he wanted a symbol to show the terrorists that America was standing strong, that we weren't defeated.

My older brother and his family drove 15 hours from Chicago. My younger brother rented a car in New York City and headed south. My maid of honor sat at the check-in counter at Los Angeles International Airport until the airline put her on a plane to North Carolina.

The night before the wedding, all of us gathered with bowed heads as my older brother prayed for the victims, for America. Ministers had admonished, in prayer services and candlelight vigils, that we pray for our enemies, the terrorists. I couldn't.

Ten years later, I still have a hard time with that one. I'm thankful for the Navy SEALs and glad bin Laden is dead. But I'm sorry the good that came of his evil didn't last.

In the days and weeks after the attacks, people were kind to each other. We gave each other the benefit of the doubt. We built community.

A couple of weeks after Sept. 11, having driven through New England when the trip to Italy was canceled, my husband and I arrived at the airport three hours early for our return flight. Like everyone else, we were simply happy to be able to fly again. The security line that snaked through the airport was full of laughter and commiseration. Passengers were patient. We were in this together.

I long to have that back, to replace the bitterness and rancor in this country with a spirit of cooperation. The legacy of Sept. 11 is loss and fear and violence. It should also be selflessness, generosity, compassion - all the good things I witnessed that week. The qualities that serve as a template for a strong marriage. The things that made me proud to be an American.

Candy Hatcher is an editorial writer for The Virginian-Pilot. Email: candy.hatcher@pilotonline.com.