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6:54 a.m. Fourth cell phone call from Tom Burnett to Deena (his wife)
Deena: Tom?
Tom: Hi. Anything new?
Deena: No
Tom: Where are the kids?
Deena: They’re fine. They’re sitting at the table having breakfast. They’re asking to talk to you.
Tom: Tell them I’ll talk to them later
Deena: I called your parents. They know your plane has been hijacked.
Tom: Oh…you shouldn’t have worried them. How are they doing?
Deena: They’re O.K.. Mary and Martha are with them.
Tom: Good. (a long quiet pause) We’re waiting until we’re over a rural area. We’re going to take back the airplane.
Deena: No! Sit down, be still, be quiet, and don’t draw attention to yourself!
Tom: Deena! If they’re going to crash this plane into the ground, we’re going to have do something!
Deena: What about the authorities?
Tom: We can’t wait for the authorities. I don’t know what they could do anyway.
It’s up to us. I think we can do it.
Deena: What do you want me to do?
Tom: Pray, Deena, just pray.
Deena: (after a long pause) I love you.
Tom: Don’t worry, we’re going to do something.

Thank you for the reminder. I said in my earlier post that “we sat, terrified and horrified” but that’s not entirely true. The horror was there, of course, but I wasn’t particularly afraid or worried about my own safety. It was all too unreal, unthinkable. It wasn’t until later, after my brain and heart had time to process, that I felt even an inkling of doubt about my personal security. A friend who worked in the secretarial pool at the White House expressed similar reactions.

I had the honor to work with men who were in the Pentagon that day. They lost friends and were far closer to death than anyone else in DC. Compared to what they experienced, the threat from Flight 93 has always seemed nebulous and inconsequential. That does not diminish, however, the respect and gratitude I have for those brave souls who fought to take back that plane.