Pools of Tears: Remembering Lives Lost on 9/11
Just months following the vicious assault on our country in 2001, I traveled to NY for a speaking engagement. I vividly recall upon our descent into JFK, being overwhelmed with a feeling of fear and panic; my brain was flooded with “what if’s?” When the attacks of 9/11 occurred, I was on my honeymoon, having been married just a few days earlier. My husband at the time, was a pilot for a major airline (he is neither presently, but I digress) and so I was already feeling pangs of anxiety every time he left for a flight – but now, flying into the same airspace that so many innocent people died, was incredibly eerie and humbling.
I would have a few extra days on my trip to spend some time in the city and my husband would join me for the last leg of it. He had mentioned wanting to go to “Ground Zero” and I struggled with his request. Having been part of such a high-profile murder case, I was all too familiar with the thousands of people who would be compelled to “visit” the location where tragedy on such epic proportions occurred. I couldn’t comprehend the fascination that caused people to come from every corner of the universe and traipse all over the place where people were violently killed but it happens. The condo where Ron and Nicole were slaughtered to death, was a frequent pit-stop on numerous Hollywood Tours and that made my skin crawl – so in my mind, this was the same thing.
When I was in college (before my brother died) I went to Germany and had the opportunity to visit Dachau (first Nazi concentration camp) where more than 30,000 people were killed. I walked around the grounds with an intense feeling of guilt. I connected on such a profound level with the tremendous loss of life – not just because I was a Jew but because I was human and had great compassion for those who suffered, but the feeling of “I don’t belong here” was my shadow on that journey. Never felt right.
The sentiment in NY at that time was quiet and somber. The city was missing its energy – its “life” went down with the towers. I felt out-of-place and like I was traipsing where I didn’t belong, even though I was miles away from the where the towers once stood. I could still smell the burnt metal and the stench of jet fuel – it was awful.
I never went to “Ground Zero” … until now.
I ventured off to the Big Apple this past weekend, but this time as a proud single mother with my son, Sam, at my side. I went to NY to participate on a panel at Pace Law School with my father and extended the trip so I could enjoy the city with my 8 yr. old. I was hemming and hawing on what to do on our first big day and rattled off a few ideas with my good friend (a native New Yorker), which included the 9/11 memorial. I am not even sure why I said it, it just came flying out my mouth. I hadn’t considered it previously, it wasn’t on my tourist list and I had no idea what the memorial actually consisted of, past those initial images on the news years before. She immediately responded with “you must go to the memorial, it’s incredibly moving” and with her unsolicited permission (that I didn’t know I needed or wanted) … off we went. There was something about a “native” making it OK for me to go, that was comforting. I have always felt like since I didn’t live in NY or in DC or know anyone on the planes that went down, that I wasn’t entitled to the same degree of grief. Crazy huh? So having my friend say it was important for me to go … was what I needed.
Maybe it was because so many years had passed, or because new buildings were being erected, or because the visionary behind the memorial designed such a stunning and respectful space – that I didn’t feel that sense of guilt that I had anticipated or that I was invading anyone’s private family moments of grief. There was a place for me and for my emotion.
I won’t ruin it for you, if you have never been but it is truly remarkable. Spending the time with my son, with my father and I recalling where we were the morning of, how it happened, sharing the heroism that presented itself in every story we could tell him … still chokes me up. Sam knew the basics about what happened, but being in that environment on that day and answering his questions and being able to experience the magnitude of just how big (literally and metaphorically) it all is, was more than I could contain. Yes, the ugly cry made it’s debut.
As I walked between the two “pools”, reading name after name of the First Responder’s, the passengers on the flights, and the victims of the towers – my tears shed for the futures that were stolen from these innocent people, for the more than 3,000 families left behind to pick up the pieces, for the courage displayed by so many that tried to help and for our country that still feels the pain of that day with so many of our young men and women fighting for our safety over seas.
I am not comparing what happened on 9/11 to my brother’s death — but I suddenly could understand why people would come to a place that represents such tragedy … it is a place to mourn, to grieve, to be connected, to feel … it is a chance to be united (even for a short moment), to empathize and to reclaim our humanity. It is the closest thing to giving a hug to someone, a stranger, that is probably in great need of a good squeez. It is where we go to reconcile the “what if’s” and to remind ourselves of how precious life is. It was where I could pay my respects and honor the memories of so many.
On this day, and always … my heart opens wide for those lives lost on September 11, 2001.
We will never forget. I will never forget.
