All students with “missing parents” were called to the guidance counselor’s office. Every other student was dismissed to their parents, but school officials didn’t know who would be coming for us.
Our parents were in towers that weren’t there anymore.
Our parents were in towers that every classroom’s television had just shown us was crumbling to the ground–our loved ones inside.
When my little sister and I were finally taken home by a kind babysitter, we sat hand in hand on the edge of the cliff at the end of our street–a small stone wall we could perch on and look directly into Manhattan. We sat on that cliff in more ways than one, our eyes straining as if maybe we could catch a glimpse of our dad from miles away. Maybe he was okay. Maybe he wasn’t in the collapse we’d seen on tv.
Manhattan was covered by a huge mass of smoke, but the skyline was missing two very obvious buildings.
And two little girls were missing their father.
Hours passed, cell phones didn’t work, and it wasn’t until night fall that he stumbled through the door. Covered in a white ash, or soot, or I’m afraid to know what else, he was home and he was okay.
Everything was okay.
And then the news started to trickle in. Friends, neighbors, mothers, and fathers who weren’t going to make the long walk from Manhattan to New Jersey tonight. People I’d known my whole life, suddenly gone. Their kids–my friends–left to pick up the pieces.
It’s those kids and their families that weigh on my heart every year. It’s the absolute terror I felt all day waiting for my father to come home, or the ache I feel in my heart when I think of what he went through to return to us that I dwell on today.
And every year, I always say the same thing.
There will be wonderful stories of survival, sacrifice, and triumph today. Those stories are vital and needed and serve an important purpose. Embrace them. Praise them.
Americans are so brave.
There will be calls for change, for defending our country, for fighting back. Those spirits and courage are important, too. Support them. Hold them.
America is so strong.
Then there will be people like me who take this one day a year and we’re not strong. We sit quietly and remember how badly those losses still hurt. And that’s important, too.
Allow yourself to feel the hurt, reflect on it, and acknowledge its value. Then, tomorrow, return the pain to where it belongs, and continue on with our heads held high and our hearts open wide.
Tomorrow, we can be strong.
Today, we can be broken.
We can just be human.
And that’s okay.
#Sept11 #NYC #NeverForget
[This post was originally published on Sarah’s Facebook page here. It was shared over 570+ times with 1.2 likes and dozens of comments–what an honor to be able to reach so many people with this story. Thank you.]
Wow. This is an amazing story, and so heartbreaking…