September 11, Keeping It Quiet
That the sun rises on another day is not only inevitable, sometimes it is a miracle.
Ten years ago today the sun dropped from a bright blue New York sky, sinking into an abyss of confusion and incomprehension. The raw grief, too much for a number of any, multiplied into numbers of many. Weeks of funerals. Forever for the missing.
We all of us, wherever we were in the world at that tick of the clock, have our stories to tell. For some, the world order changed forever. Mercifully, while the tragic event certainly changed our family plans, we had no need to make funeral arrangements. As such, I have no desire to furnish run-away anecdotal details of how near, yet so far, from the atrocities we were but for a simple availability of dates in the diary.
We are away from NYC this week-end, sitting by the fire as the evening chill settles on a September day in this green and pleasant land that is England. Media coverage pops up on the TV and we change the channel, leaving the pundits to pontificate on the legacy of the new world order which remains a work in progress.
Ten years ago today, I had yet to visit the New York where my husband had started work not many weeks before with me staying in London with the boys at crucial stages of their education. We were to commute for the short-term.
Ten years later, the struggle to make sense of the tragedy continues. Memories of my first visit to New York when Ground Zero was a burning hole in the ground are not far away. Fenced off and barricaded, a no-go zone but for the rescue workers and the families who formed lines with special passes to a place they had no wish to be but for the nearness of their missing dearests.
The American Airlines crew, so many empty seats, so many missing crew.
The Pipe Bands in full dress outside the wide open doors of St Patrick’s Cathedral with their farewell for fallen rescue workers.
The pleas for the missing, the “have you seen?” flyers, wrapping corner blocks.
The sun, shining on a Sunday in October in Central Park, a park crawling with people for the first time since . . . that day for which there are no words.
The quiet padding a way amidst the chaos.
The sense that there was no place I’d rather be.
And in the years from then until now and always, the memorials of that September morning of endless sunshine – candles, flowers and photos, on the walls of fire stations, in flower boxes on the sidewalks outside apartment blocks all over side streets criss-crossing the streets of the loved and the missing.
A day of mourning. A morning when always the sun will shine and certain memories live forever. That’s what love does. It lives forever so that we will never forget.
Friends and family. Grateful forever, wherever we are .