9/11 Hasn’t Faded From My Memory
I’ll be on an airplane today, as I’ve been many years in the past on September 11th. I don’t intentionally book flights on the anniversary of 9/11, but I also don’t shy away from it. Many of the pilots and flight attendants I’ll encounter today weren’t working for an airline in 2001. Heck, at this point, some of them probably weren’t alive.
However, there are still so many flight attendants I meet who have 30 and 40 years of service. In conversations I’ve had over the years, those that were airline employees on that day back in 2001 share a bond with each other. They think of the families of those that were lost, both fellow employees as well as passengers. 25 years later, there are fully grown adults who were just kids back then, faced with a life of growing up without a mother or father that loved them.
It’s been 10 years since I visited the Flight 93 memorial. The passengers and crew on that flight knew more than other flights that were taken over that day. They acted on their instincts, performing a brave and selfless act that likely saved many lives on the ground that day. If you haven’t visited the Flight 93 memorial, I encourage you to visit it or one of the other memorials around the country. The stories that are told there are profound. They help to preserve the memory of the brave individuals who protected us when they had the opportunity, paying the ultimate price. Their stories are meant to be remembered, to be shared with those that did not live through 9/11.
Sadly, violence, and especially political violence, are still a part of our lives. Just yesterday there were two horrific acts of violence in the US, and likely others around the world.
Even though I’ve been absent from this blog for a number of months, I wake up on September 11th each year with a need to write. Writing has always been an outlet for my emotions. I went to sleep last night reliving that morning, when none of us really knew what was happening. We didn’t know how much our lives would change when we woke up that day. To a large degree, we never contemplated an attack of that severity, and how it could rip us apart and yet, somehow, bring us together.
I’ll never forget walking down a quiet street near Battery Park a couple months after the attacks in 2001. It was not a street I had ever seen quiet before, nor will it likely ever be as quiet again. As I walked further South, trying to catch a glimpse of the wreckage and to pay my respects at the makeshift memorials that had popped up, I was surprised and comforted by what I saw. Outside a small handful of businesses were people with small tables of goods for sale. With none of their normal customers in sight, they were standing outside on a chilly day, selling flowers, NYC hats and small American flags.
Further South were people trying to offer rescue workers water and snacks while they performed thankless work. And, there were makeshift memorials, on park benches, on fences, in the grass around trees. Signs, flowers and pictures brought tears to my eyes. While I can’t recall if I had a camera with me that day, I can see those images, 20+ years later, clear as day.
Many of the people I encountered that quiet morning can trace their roots back to countries other than the United States. But, in that moment, they were Americans. Today, in the face of continued violence, that still holds true. We are Americans, however tribal our beliefs may have become. Today, I hope, for just a few moments, we can take a pause and remember that fact. We are all Americans, even when we disagree. Violence breeds hatred and wrecks the lives of families we may never meet. And, there will always be brave souls willing to pay the ultimate sacrifice to protect others, whether that’s on an airplane or running up a flight of stairs to save someone when everyone else is running away. I’m thankful for each one of them, and for their families who bear the loss of their sacrifice.
