Never Forget, Even if the Pain Dissipates
I didn’t talk publicly about September 11 until almost 10 years after the horrible day. The day the world changed. And then I wrote a few posts and shared more. Then I started to reduce the amount that I talked about what happened that day. And some people ask me if it’s because I think it no longer matters or if too much time has passed. Does it mean as much today as it did 22 years ago? Does it impact me the same?
And I’m not really sure how to answer that. Because whenever I think about what happened that day I still have the same feelings of anger and fear and frustration that I had over 20 years ago.
I still remember my morning in lower Manhattan that day. I still think about the images of people running down the street and clouds of debris flying after them and towards me. I still wonder what it is that I am supposed to be doing in the world. Because instead of taking my normal route that would have had me in the World Trade Center at the exact time the first plane hit, I took a different route.
I still recall the kindness of strangers that I met when I walked over that bridge in Brooklyn. The unity amongst black, brown, white, and all the colors of the world gathered in solidarity against evil. I’m smiling thinking of the family that took me to Queens to stay with them for the night. While I figured out what I was supposed to do next. And the cute pictures on the wall of the bedroom I stayed in which belonged to a little boy.
I remember the smells of lower Manhattan. And I don’t think I’ve ever actually talked about the smells but I remember the smells. The smell on the morning which was of an intense burning stronger than any fire I’d ever smelled. The smell of the people around me covered in dust and dirt and sweat. The smell a few days later when I was finally able to leave the city on a train to Philadelphia so that I could rent a car with 4 strangers to take me back to my family in Chicago. And the smell when I first came back to New York in October a few weeks after. The smell of death and decay. The most awful smell I have ever experienced.
But I also remember the calls, texts, and messages. The ones that came through when my mobile phone finally starting to work again. My loved ones and even long silent friends checking in to make sure I was ok. My fellow New York based friends that had been stuck on the upper side of the Island.
I also remember the sense of community continuing today and yet still very different. Those that were in the building and survived could understand each other but not talk to others. Those who like me were just down the street felt pain and sadness yet struggled to find the words to say to our colleagues at ground zero. And I just could not listen to people with lots to say who were nowhere near the city that day. I get it. We all saw it replayed over and over again on television. But only some saw the desperation directly. The bodies. The debris.
And I remember the ignorance. The conversation with my Sikh colleague as he told me how many people were making hateful comments to him because he, like some Muslims, wore a head wrap. The assholes that made statements about Jews. People were angry and often that anger b needed an outlet. So i remember how quickly community became dissent became community again. The cycle continues today. The constant search for a common enemy. A shared experience.
So I guess the answer is that of course I remember. Like it did after the death of my stepfather Karl that happened 10 years later, the pain does dissipate. And I no longer feel guilty about that. But the memories remain. And the triggers exist. And so occasionally I will write about it. I will always think of those who lost their lives simply because they went to work. I will always be grateful to those who lost their lives actively running toward the danger. They saved thousands. And I thank God for pulling me through and helping guide my path that day and every day.
And now those damn tears start.
Be well. Lead On.
Adam
Related Posts:
Remembering 9/11 – 15 years later (2016)
Remembering 9/11/01 – My Morning in Lower Manhattan (2011)
Remembering the kindness of strangers – September 11 (2014)
Retracing My Steps (2017)
