Post by radylady on Sept 11, 2016 12:10:42 GMT -5
Originally written on September 11, 2010
- I don't remember why I added the tag at the very end of this post from my Facebook page - I imagine that someone or some thing decided to use the memory for something other than...remembering...you know how I get when something ticks me off. Anyway...the rest of this post, other than that tag is very relevant, and straight from the heart/
September 11 is a day for remembrance
It is a day to honor the dead, to comfort the ones left behind, the ones who were there, the ones who experienced the horror, the ones who are forever witnesses to a senseless attack…
I was not there. No, I watched the events unfold from a hotel far away, unable to believe what I was seeing. I had not been able to sleep the night before, feeling an unexplained, unnatural, and unusual anxiety, so I had spent the night watching the news, thus I was awake to witness from those first minutes of hell. I remember CNN’s Aaron Browns words as the second tower collapsed – he said “My God - There are no words”.
I did not return to my city until almost two weeks after the event, and I came by train because I was unable to board a plane…
And when I finally boarded a train and came home, the home was strange to me. And in the ensuing days, what I saw…what I saw…..I will never forget…..
I remember the endless sadness and quiet of the city in the aftermath and wondered if the city would ever feel “right” again. Streets were unnaturally empty early in the evenings, and during the day folks moved about quickly and quietly – it was so quiet….
I remember the rows and rows of portable generators under the FDR in the aftermath of destruction, giving light and power to lower Manhattan so that business of rescue and the business of Finance could carry on. I remember the National Guard standing at every corner with big guns and rifles, and somber faces, knowing that they had a duty to carry out should they be called. I was afraid of the guns, I don’t like guns – but I was in awe of those men and women.
Mostly, I remember the faces posted everywhere you looked, simply everywhere, images posted by families who had not yet come to realize that these people will never be seen again. Those pictures haunted me for months. For days they were everywhere you looked, especially downtown and near hospitals and fire stations - you could not escape those faces, moments of happiness caught on film, each happy moment never to be repeated again.
I remember the pages and pages of obituaries in the New York Times day after day for weeks and months, beloved mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, husbands, wives, sons, daughters eulogized in short paragraphs by stunned families forced to acknowledge the unspeakable despite having no body for burial, no closure and very likely feeling no solace at the acknowledgement.
I remember the sight and the smells of the ruin, the bits of material swirling around lower Manhattan every day for weeks. You were protected somewhat inside your building, but once you came outside it was there like an acrid memory of buildings, businesses, and people. We walked with our faces covered most times, we didn’t want to breath the air…
I remember the day in February when I finally no longer smelled the burning smell, even though the fire had gone out a month or so ago...on that day I could smell the fish at the Futon Fish Market and on that day those rotten fish smelled better than chocolate.
Myself, I remain unable to watch replays of that day without weeping, my own reactions to the events of that day so severe that I fear to reawaken them – so I turn away…they will not help me heal..not now, not yet. I remember that as I watched the events unfold, I felt so helpless, and to this day I do not know if I would have been better off being there with my friends, or where I was, safe and away from the chaos.
I remember wanting to see my friends and co-workers, everyone of them, just to make sure that they were well and whole and unhurt. I remember listing them one by one as I sat alone 3,000 miles away, not knowing for sure that everyone was ok.
I remember – and it is likely that I will never forget.
September 11th is burned into my memory, and the memories of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of people who were there, who knew someone, who was a colleague, who was a relative, who was a friend, who was a New Yorker who by a stroke of fate just happened to be there, or happened to be on those planes…
Never forget...
September 11th by virtue of this attack is a special day that should center on peace, prayer and comfort –
anything else is exploitation, self serving, and shameful.
- I don't remember why I added the tag at the very end of this post from my Facebook page - I imagine that someone or some thing decided to use the memory for something other than...remembering...you know how I get when something ticks me off. Anyway...the rest of this post, other than that tag is very relevant, and straight from the heart/
September 11 is a day for remembrance
It is a day to honor the dead, to comfort the ones left behind, the ones who were there, the ones who experienced the horror, the ones who are forever witnesses to a senseless attack…
I was not there. No, I watched the events unfold from a hotel far away, unable to believe what I was seeing. I had not been able to sleep the night before, feeling an unexplained, unnatural, and unusual anxiety, so I had spent the night watching the news, thus I was awake to witness from those first minutes of hell. I remember CNN’s Aaron Browns words as the second tower collapsed – he said “My God - There are no words”.
I did not return to my city until almost two weeks after the event, and I came by train because I was unable to board a plane…
And when I finally boarded a train and came home, the home was strange to me. And in the ensuing days, what I saw…what I saw…..I will never forget…..
I remember the endless sadness and quiet of the city in the aftermath and wondered if the city would ever feel “right” again. Streets were unnaturally empty early in the evenings, and during the day folks moved about quickly and quietly – it was so quiet….
I remember the rows and rows of portable generators under the FDR in the aftermath of destruction, giving light and power to lower Manhattan so that business of rescue and the business of Finance could carry on. I remember the National Guard standing at every corner with big guns and rifles, and somber faces, knowing that they had a duty to carry out should they be called. I was afraid of the guns, I don’t like guns – but I was in awe of those men and women.
Mostly, I remember the faces posted everywhere you looked, simply everywhere, images posted by families who had not yet come to realize that these people will never be seen again. Those pictures haunted me for months. For days they were everywhere you looked, especially downtown and near hospitals and fire stations - you could not escape those faces, moments of happiness caught on film, each happy moment never to be repeated again.
I remember the pages and pages of obituaries in the New York Times day after day for weeks and months, beloved mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, husbands, wives, sons, daughters eulogized in short paragraphs by stunned families forced to acknowledge the unspeakable despite having no body for burial, no closure and very likely feeling no solace at the acknowledgement.
I remember the sight and the smells of the ruin, the bits of material swirling around lower Manhattan every day for weeks. You were protected somewhat inside your building, but once you came outside it was there like an acrid memory of buildings, businesses, and people. We walked with our faces covered most times, we didn’t want to breath the air…
I remember the day in February when I finally no longer smelled the burning smell, even though the fire had gone out a month or so ago...on that day I could smell the fish at the Futon Fish Market and on that day those rotten fish smelled better than chocolate.
Myself, I remain unable to watch replays of that day without weeping, my own reactions to the events of that day so severe that I fear to reawaken them – so I turn away…they will not help me heal..not now, not yet. I remember that as I watched the events unfold, I felt so helpless, and to this day I do not know if I would have been better off being there with my friends, or where I was, safe and away from the chaos.
I remember wanting to see my friends and co-workers, everyone of them, just to make sure that they were well and whole and unhurt. I remember listing them one by one as I sat alone 3,000 miles away, not knowing for sure that everyone was ok.
I remember – and it is likely that I will never forget.
September 11th is burned into my memory, and the memories of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of people who were there, who knew someone, who was a colleague, who was a relative, who was a friend, who was a New Yorker who by a stroke of fate just happened to be there, or happened to be on those planes…
Never forget...
September 11th by virtue of this attack is a special day that should center on peace, prayer and comfort –
anything else is exploitation, self serving, and shameful.