So, it was a phenomenally beautiful day. It was so beautiful, it nearly sparkled. It seems like that's one of the things we all seem to remember the most.
I was getting ready to leave for work--as usual, running late, and only caught a snippet about the planes from National Public Radio. It wasn't possible for me to begin to process the information--there wasn't time.
Within a couple of hours after my arrival at work, leaders from my company were calling and telling us we were welcome to go home if we wanted to. We didn't. I remember a co-worker of mine saying that nothing would change here--by here, she meant Kansas City. Before long, I think we all realized that nothing would ever be the same.
People trickled in and out of our hospital that day. But mostly it seemed like people were just someplace else. By the time I got to leave that evening, I still hadn't seen any of the images of the planes crashing into the towers, the Pentagon or in that open field in Pennsylvania.
I'll never forget the news shows endlessly replaying the video of the planes hitting and the towers falling. It was almost as if they couldn't make the event real, no matter how many times we all saw it unfold--time after time. It was a macabre and horrible instant replay. For hours, they showed footage of people taking to the streets of New York, walking away from where the towers used to be. Paper, dust, debris and smoke flew around like the tiny plastic pieces floating around in a snow globe. The surreality of everything made the event seem impossible. It was the worst disaster movie brought horrifically to life.
As people began to realize their loved ones were unaccounted for, the night brought images of the fliers and photos--the fliers and photos posted and held by family and friends desperately seeking their missing--their dead.
I remember that we huddled on the sofa, watching. It seems to me that we actually were watching MTV that night because they had people in the streets talking to New Yorkers about what had happened and where they had been. It was the first time in years MTV was relevant to me. Sadly, it hasn't been so since.
As I reflect on that night, it seems like I can't remember a time when so many people gathered--came together--outside of events like Live Aid or the George Harrison concert for Bangladesh. I'm not a patriotic person by any means, but in those moments, I was an American, just like everyone else. My heart bled for those lost, and those left behind.
In the months and years that have followed, many things have changed. For the last ten years, we have been in a constant state of war. At every turn, new threats create new security efforts that baffle many of us, and seem ludicrous at times. I'm in that group of folks who is willing to sacrifice a lot to be safe and stay alive. Take my shampoo--please! I've lost a Leatherman that Jeph gave me for my birthday that I forgot was in my purse, and mailed my bandage scissors to myself for the same mistake at another point. I've been the arrogant American waiting in the customs line in the Dublin airport as two men of Arab descent were being screened more thoroughly than the rest of us--and horrible person that it makes me--I was glad. I've been the seeking American, trying to understand where all that hate comes from, and what we should have done, and still need to do, to build bridges instead of fueling more hijacked airplanes.
On the one hand, in the days following the attacks, the terrorists lost their battle--we pulled together instead of tearing each other apart. On the other, our economy is still crumbling around us, not unlike those two towers; our leadership is divided and at war with each other; and we as a nation could not be less unified. Ten years of war have added to the death toll of that day--on both sides. And as we prepare for bed tonight, a terrorist threat looms over us again--taking us back to those horrible moments of vulnerability and uncertainty.
For many who had loved ones in the towers, at the Pentagon and in Pennsylvania, time stopped. National Public Radio has an amazing project called Story Corp, and they have worked in conjunction with the National September 11 Memorial and Museum to help loved ones document their stories. This week, I listened to a father talk about his two sons--one a fireman, one a policeman. He had spoken to both of his boys within a day of the attacks, and he had been fortunate enough to do what so many of us never get the chance to do--he had told them he loved them--not knowing how significant those words would be. No unfinished business. I also listened to a boy talking about his grandfather who died in the attacks. He said that his grandpa was the only grandpa he wanted to see and broke down. The tears of that young boy stopped me cold, and I nearly had to pull over.
I think of a friend who was in the Pentagon and injured in the attack. I can't imagine what emotions are hitting her tonight, and what she has gone through every year. I know there isn't a day that passes for her that this event isn't with her.
For many of these people, every day is September 11, 2001. A piece of their lives is gone that they can never get back. Nearly three thousand people were just lost--as if misplaced like an earring or cuff-link. You see the match everyday and it constantly reminds you that the pair--the set--will never be complete again. But it feels like it should be, and no matter how much you try to remind yourself, it just doesn't make sense. Your heart is forever searching.
As much as things changed for a moment in time, everything actually did stay the same. With the exception of those trapped on September 11 forever, the rest of us went on with our lives. We changed jobs, had children, started new diets, bought new wardrobes, or let the last ten years pass like an absent minded blur. We're back to our selfishness. We're back to looking at the rest of the world around us and when people need help, we're back to saying "that's not my problem, take care of yourself." We're back to calling people who disagree with our political views names and defiantly struggling to do anything but work together to find common ground.
In spite of what is the same, and even what's different, as we see and hear the specials commemorating the anniversary of the attacks, that same pain and horror will flash through our minds once more. Every one of us will think about that day--where we were, how we learned of the attacks and the extent of the horror, and how we vowed to stand together against terror. Every one of us will probably feel that lump rise in our throats when we hear the individual stories of last conversations, or of parents watching as the plane their son was on crashed into Tower Two in real time on television.
And the one thing that could bring us together again is remembering another day--a day we will never have again. We will forever be the post 9/11 America. There will never be another September 10 for any of us.
I hope you will click the link. Live didn't write "Overcome" about September 11, but it became an anthem for the moment. The only video I have ever seen for this track includes footage from New York in the hours we were most together. As the last ten minutes of this post 9/11 September 10 pass, I know I will be thinking about those hours on my sofa, those people in the streets who would receive word their loved ones were gone, and those survivors who ask "why did I get another chance?" For some questions, there are no answers.
"I beg you...to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer..." Rainer Maria Rilke
http://youtu.be/jpCa7Ay596M
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