I don't try to get over it.
The news today was filled with images of the memorial ceremonies for the victims of September 11. Isn't it amazing that it has already been three years and yet we still don't, and probably won't ever need to, include the year when we say that date? Everybody knows what it means and everybody feels something different when it is mentioned. Today I feel raw. Perhaps not as raw as I did three years ago, but there is still some semblance of that sick, horrified, and grief-stricken feeling at my core. I don't fight it because I don't want it to go away. I did not lose anyone dear to me in the tragic events that unfolded that day. I didn't have to. My sense of security was taken. A piece of my innocence was taken. I was left feeling shaken and helpless in the aftermath. We all felt something that day. I'm lucky it did not put my life at a standstill, but others were not as fortunate. I cannot imagine the pain that so many people had to endure (and are still enduring to this day). I am not a New Yorker, but anyone who knows me understands how badly I want to be one. Something about this city has always fascinated me. The noise, the fast pace, the buildings, the theatre, the traffic, the diverse people, the languages, the subway, the music, the opportunity, the art...the skyline. This feeling existed before 9/11 but only grew stronger once I saw how this amazing city responded to the attempt to break its spirit. Now the New York City skyline will never be the same. Its people will never be the same. This country will never be the same. The world will never be the same. I will never be the same.
I was robbed of my chance to see the New York City skyline with its Twin Towers. I am angry about that. However, I also realize that my selfish feeling of loss could never begin to compare to the loss that all the people of New York City continue to feel to this day. I was fortunate enough to travel there on May 19, 2002, just 8 months after the terrorist attacks. One of my main priorities was to visit Ground Zero. When I was able to do so, it was a very emotional experience. The viewing platform and walkway were made of plywood. My mother, myself, and all the others who came to pay their respects had to ascend the plywood walkway to get to the platform. As we approached the walkway, it looked like plain wood. It wasn't stained or painted. I would not have guessed that there was anything remarkable about it. However, as I stepped onto it I realized that virtually every inch of the wood was covered with messages. For me, it was the first true evidence that something significant happened at this place. But somehow it was still hard to grasp the magnitude of it. With every inch of different handwriting, different colored words, different size, and different purpose my faith in people was slowly restored. This stretch of plywood, nails, and ink restored my belief that people really do look out for one another, without even needing to have a personal relationship. We all shared in some part of this tragedy and those who were the most affected by it needed to know that there was support for them. Whether that support presented itself in the form of donations, service, or kind words, it was and will continue to be offered to those who need it. For whatever reason, that made me feel connected to the people I encountered that day. We were eventually shuffled onto the platform and given a few minutes to survey the site. It was an experience that is beyond words. I felt my heart sink as I looked over the railing and saw the massive hole in the ground where the Towers once stood. The realization overtook me that this was a place where many innocent people lost their lives as they attempted to follow their daily routines. I looked up to the sky and tried to imagine the Towers standing there. All I could imagine was the sound of what unfolded that day, the images replayed over and over again by the media in its aftermath, the coverage of the rescue, recovery, and memorials that followed. I took pictures of the site. There wasn't much to see, but I wanted to remember it. The clean-up efforts were almost complete by then. In fact, the final beam was removed in a ceremony on May 30, 2002, just four days after we left. One of the most haunting images I continue to see is one of children sitting in their parent's lap as the funerals are held for their other parent. Even as an adult, I cannot imagine losing one of my parents. How could you possibly explain to a child that their mother or father, or even an aunt or uncle, grandmother or grandfather, sister, brother, or cousin was killed when a plane flew into their building as they tried to work or when the plane they were on was flown into a building? I cannot imagine how these children are coping after seeing the disturbing images replayed on television continuously. I found a book of children's artwork from September 11. The images that most of them drew were very troubling. Even at very young ages, some of these children are clearly scarred by what they've experienced. The picture below was drawn by an 8-year-old girl. It is one of the least chaotic of the pictures I found. But she clearly understands that there was a large loss of life that day. How can we expect any child to cope with that?
My focus tends to be on the World Trade Center because I had a connection with New York City that I did not have with Washington D.C. or Shanksville, Pennsylvania. I haven't failed to recognize the losses at the Pentagon or the heroic efforts of the passengers on United Flight 93. Perhaps it's easier to feel more outrage toward what happened in New York City because of the enourmous amount of destruction and loss of life that took place. One of the most eye-opening facts I've read indicated that over 65,000 personal items were found during the recovery at Ground Zero. Of those, there were 144 rings. When I read that, I immediately imagined having a spouse who was killed on 9/11 and not having anything tangible left of that person returned to me but a ring...perhaps a wedding ring. That is an awful reality for some people. I've had those around me ask me why I spend so much time thinking about and reviewing the events that took place on September 11. The truth is that I inundate all my senses with the memories of 9/11 to remind myself of the pain I shared with the rest of the country that day. I watch the video. I look at the pictures. I listen to the sounds. I remember what the steel pillar of the World Trade Center feels like. I only got to experience that feeling at a museum exhibit after the World Trade Center was gone. When I experience all of these things I allow the grief to overcome me again, if only for a moment. I don't fight it. I don't try to get over it. After all, it's unfair to allow my mind and body to forget that horrific day when my heart and soul do not have that privilege.
"Grief drives men into habits of serious reflection, sharpens the understanding and softens the heart." John Adams, 1816
I was robbed of my chance to see the New York City skyline with its Twin Towers. I am angry about that. However, I also realize that my selfish feeling of loss could never begin to compare to the loss that all the people of New York City continue to feel to this day. I was fortunate enough to travel there on May 19, 2002, just 8 months after the terrorist attacks. One of my main priorities was to visit Ground Zero. When I was able to do so, it was a very emotional experience. The viewing platform and walkway were made of plywood. My mother, myself, and all the others who came to pay their respects had to ascend the plywood walkway to get to the platform. As we approached the walkway, it looked like plain wood. It wasn't stained or painted. I would not have guessed that there was anything remarkable about it. However, as I stepped onto it I realized that virtually every inch of the wood was covered with messages. For me, it was the first true evidence that something significant happened at this place. But somehow it was still hard to grasp the magnitude of it. With every inch of different handwriting, different colored words, different size, and different purpose my faith in people was slowly restored. This stretch of plywood, nails, and ink restored my belief that people really do look out for one another, without even needing to have a personal relationship. We all shared in some part of this tragedy and those who were the most affected by it needed to know that there was support for them. Whether that support presented itself in the form of donations, service, or kind words, it was and will continue to be offered to those who need it. For whatever reason, that made me feel connected to the people I encountered that day. We were eventually shuffled onto the platform and given a few minutes to survey the site. It was an experience that is beyond words. I felt my heart sink as I looked over the railing and saw the massive hole in the ground where the Towers once stood. The realization overtook me that this was a place where many innocent people lost their lives as they attempted to follow their daily routines. I looked up to the sky and tried to imagine the Towers standing there. All I could imagine was the sound of what unfolded that day, the images replayed over and over again by the media in its aftermath, the coverage of the rescue, recovery, and memorials that followed. I took pictures of the site. There wasn't much to see, but I wanted to remember it. The clean-up efforts were almost complete by then. In fact, the final beam was removed in a ceremony on May 30, 2002, just four days after we left. One of the most haunting images I continue to see is one of children sitting in their parent's lap as the funerals are held for their other parent. Even as an adult, I cannot imagine losing one of my parents. How could you possibly explain to a child that their mother or father, or even an aunt or uncle, grandmother or grandfather, sister, brother, or cousin was killed when a plane flew into their building as they tried to work or when the plane they were on was flown into a building? I cannot imagine how these children are coping after seeing the disturbing images replayed on television continuously. I found a book of children's artwork from September 11. The images that most of them drew were very troubling. Even at very young ages, some of these children are clearly scarred by what they've experienced. The picture below was drawn by an 8-year-old girl. It is one of the least chaotic of the pictures I found. But she clearly understands that there was a large loss of life that day. How can we expect any child to cope with that?
My focus tends to be on the World Trade Center because I had a connection with New York City that I did not have with Washington D.C. or Shanksville, Pennsylvania. I haven't failed to recognize the losses at the Pentagon or the heroic efforts of the passengers on United Flight 93. Perhaps it's easier to feel more outrage toward what happened in New York City because of the enourmous amount of destruction and loss of life that took place. One of the most eye-opening facts I've read indicated that over 65,000 personal items were found during the recovery at Ground Zero. Of those, there were 144 rings. When I read that, I immediately imagined having a spouse who was killed on 9/11 and not having anything tangible left of that person returned to me but a ring...perhaps a wedding ring. That is an awful reality for some people. I've had those around me ask me why I spend so much time thinking about and reviewing the events that took place on September 11. The truth is that I inundate all my senses with the memories of 9/11 to remind myself of the pain I shared with the rest of the country that day. I watch the video. I look at the pictures. I listen to the sounds. I remember what the steel pillar of the World Trade Center feels like. I only got to experience that feeling at a museum exhibit after the World Trade Center was gone. When I experience all of these things I allow the grief to overcome me again, if only for a moment. I don't fight it. I don't try to get over it. After all, it's unfair to allow my mind and body to forget that horrific day when my heart and soul do not have that privilege.
"Grief drives men into habits of serious reflection, sharpens the understanding and softens the heart." John Adams, 1816
posted by Afton @ 11:50 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home