My youngest daughter and I had arrived at the airport early to spend some time watching planes taking off and landing before my mother's arrival.
It was a beautiful summer day as we stood in the grassy field in the observation area a few hundred yards away from the runways.
Suddenly, I noticed a plane on approach just in front of me slightly off to the left and pointed it out to my daughter.
However, something seemed strange as the airplane appeared to be in a stall, almost hovering.
Seconds later, while almost at a complete standstill, the plane's nose began to turn toward the ground and I knew immediately that it would soon crash.
By then, the other airplane enthusiasts who had gathered to watch takeoffs and landings that afternoon had become aware of the impending danger in the field right before their eyes.
The plane's engines came to a loud and grinding stop and, as if in slow motion, the plane crashed to the ground nose first.
We all watch in horror as the fuselage split in two upon impact, each of the two sides coming to rest side by side on the ground below.
While everyone was bracing for the imminent explosion, miraculously there was only smoke and some flames visible from our vantage point and we soon saw dozens upon dozens of people running from the crash site.
The people we saw---some accompanied by first responders---were burned and bloodied though able to walk or run on their own.
Just then, we heard an air raid siren followed by information in both English and Spanish. The voice said that TWA Flight 96 had crashed and incoming survivors would be taken to a triage facility at the south end of the field.
My daughter and I had decided to return to the airport to wait for my mother's plane, but the area had been cordoned off and we were forced to wait in a designated area that was being set up for triage.
Countless wounded passengers were arriving and being taken to makeshift treatment rooms that were made of wood and stacked three or four high.
I observed many of the wounded passengers speaking Spanish in a variety of Latin American accents.
Another air siren sounded followed by and announcement in English which I was unable to hear as a man who was standing nearby began simultaneously translating the announcement into Spanish and drowning out the sound.
I walked over to a security guard and told him I needed to get to the terminal as my mother---who was elderly and needed mobility assistance---would be arriving soon.
The security guard scolded me and said I was needed here to help the wounded and that my mother would not only wait for me understandingly, but that she would be proud that her son was a hero.
I lifted my daughter up upon one of the wooden boxes and told her to wait for me that I was going to help, but she insisted she was old enough to help as well so I lifted her off of the box and we went back to the security guard and asked where we could best help out.
The security guard pointed to a makeshift canteen that had been set up and told us we could provide hot drinks and sandwiches to whoever wanted them.
Then I woke up.
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