Random Thoughts on 9/11

On Sept. 11, 2001 the world changed, and I was altered forever.  I don't speak of it much because I'm not alone in that, but for years I'd preserve my memories and emotions in handwritten diaries.  I don't need to preserve them for myself; I can close my eyes and return to that day (and the days that immediately followed) with crystal clarity and summon every detail.

Now I'm listening to the reading of the names -- a tradition I hope never will be abandoned.  In the early years, I felt they should've hired professionals to handle this solemn task because the readers invariably mangle some of the pronounciations.  But I've changed my mind over the years as waves of love from the victims' relatives wash over me.  They add short anecdotes that bring to life my fellow New Yorkers who did not survive and reassure me that I am not alone in my grief. 

This year, an 11-year-old girl read a section of names and concluded with the name of her father, adding that she missed meeting him by ten days.  She never knew her father, yet now she's a lovely young lady participating in his memorial.  There are many other young people like her this year -- paying tribute to deceased parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, people they love -- though they weren't even alive for the horrific event that brings them together today.  May they never have to experience anything like that!

On the footprint of the World Trade Center, tranquil pools have been erected and tourists throng by the thousands.  I haven't been able to bring myself to go down there to see the improvements yet.  (As unrealistic as it sounds, I'd have preferred they left the gaping hole in the ground so future generations could see what really happened.)   Whenever I was downtown, I loved dashing through the tower lobbies and cutting through the complex.  It had its own energy and was so impressive that after college, I declared I would work there someday.  (I did, very briefly, for the owner of the New Jersey Rams semi-pro football team, who had an office in the North Tower with a breathtaking view.)   I got my first NYC parking ticket at the World Trade Center, when I mistakenly left my red Pinto on a block where parking wasn't allowed until after 7 p.m.   Even the weekend before the attack, I drove around and through the World Trade Center in a bright yellow pick-up truck, joyously blasting pop songs and thinking that life couldn't get any better.  

Now I should be working and getting ready to meet the expectations of those who regard this as any other Tuesday.  The weather is beautiful, reminiscent of that fateful day 11 years ago.  Though life grinds on, I will never forget.