Christmas music. Why Christmas music?
Aside from the fact that I love Christmas music and listen to it whenever the feeling strikes me, I need Christmas today because I need comfort. I can't just let the tenth anniversary of September 11 pass by without attempting to make sense of my thoughts. And my thoughts, in a personal mimicry of the environment around me, are filled with chaos.
My memories of this time ten years ago are disjointed and filled with emotion. Grabbing a piece of cheese toast only to be surprised by the phone ringing, followed by the instant shock and fear when I heard my mom say, "WHAT?" sharply, before turning to us and saying, "Dad says to turn on the news. Right now."
I remember running into the living room and turning on the news, and staring in shock and disbelief at the image of a tower burning and not quite understanding what happened. Then, as news commentators are discussing the impossibility of the event watching in utter horror as the second plane hit the second tower.
I remember the horror growing as I watched the towers fall - collapse - implode - one after the other. After being shuffled out the door because, well, we had school that day, I remember the neighbor coming outside and saying, "It's the start of World War 3," and wondering, Is he right?
I remember the news being on in every class - except Spanish - and the strange, shell-shocked atmosphere of the school, despite being thousands of miles away. I remember coming home, seeing on TV the devastation that was still, somehow, a shock.
There are images that have never left; I think about them almost daily:
The people inside the towers who were waving shirts outside the windows, letting rescuers know they were still inside. As if to say, "Don't forget about us! We're still stuck!"
The people who chose to jump, rather than die in the collapse.
The image of the first responders running inside, and then mere moments later being crushed.
The sight of the doctors and nurses who set up the triage stations.
The dust covered people stumbling through the rubble, dazed and shocked.
The Friday after the attacks I remember standing at our high school football game, where the teams ran onto the field together, led by the DP team captain carrying the American flag, and lining up together on the sideline for a moment of silence. I had never before, or have never since, been in a crowd so large that was able to be so silent. Even the children were quiet, as if they, too, felt and understood the heaviness of the time. And during the moment I looked down at the football players, scrambled with each other, creating an accidental red, white, and blue ribbon with their jerseys.
There are images in my mind that are disturbing. They make me uncomfortable, sad, angry. There are some people that say we should just move on. We shouldn't take time each day to run through our memories. We need to just go back to normal. At the risk of sounding harsh, or cruel, I have one thing to say in response:
What an idiotic thing to say.
We can't pretend it never happened - it did. We can't go back to normal - normal was a time of ignorance, sleepiness, and, going deeper, "normal" killed its Creator. And if we pretend it never happened, if we take the disturbing images out of our sight, we do a serious disservice to those who died that day ten years ago.
The people in the towers and surrounding buildings, people who were rushing in because they were running late for work, going to meetings, sitting at desks, emailing, calling...People living their lives just like you and me who left behind grieving family and friends. We can't pretend they didn't die. We need to give them the respect, and acknowledgement.
The first responders, those who ran in while everyone else ran out. Wow. We need to honor them. They gave their lives in an act of true love. Not "love" the noun, "love" the verb. Not "love" the feeling, but "love" the choice. No one would blame these men and women for running away. No one would judge them for not going into a building that would collapse any instant. But there were people inside who needed saving, and so they went in. When we try to ignore the fact that this happened we dishonor these brave men and women.
We can't forget. We can't push it away.
Now I believe God was there with the people as they died. Maybe it's just a way of giving myself some comfort and peace of mind, but I firmly believe the final moment for these people between life and death was, while horrible and unimaginable, also hopeful - God was there with them.
This doesn't go nearly deep enough. I could write all day and still not find a way to express everything that I felt then, ten years ago, and that I feel today. I can't seem to find the right words to express the importance of remembering, and honoring, our fallen brethren and heroes.
And so, in honor of those who climbed and climbed, only to be brought down, I offer this quote from the poem, "The Final Inspection," a poem about a police officer standing before God.
Step forward now, Officer, you've borne your burdens well.
Come walk a beat on Heaven's Streets. You've done your time in Hell
Come walk a beat on Heaven's Streets. You've done your time in Hell
May God have mercy on the souls of those lost that day, and may their memories truly be eternal.
