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.