The sky is gray and the air cool and damp today. Seems rather fitting. I woke this morning unsure of how I wanted to mark the eighth anniversary of that sad, sad, horrible day.At the time, I worked and lived in neighborhoods surrounded by national historic landmarks and offices. Arriving home by 10 am, I spent the day alternating between the telephone and the television, checking in on loved ones and watching more of the horror unfold on screen.
Eventually, I had to leave my safe cocoon and venture into the late afternoon streets to walk the dog. The city should have been alive with the throes of evening rush hour, but we only saw other dogs and their nervous walkers. And police---on foot, on horseback, on bicycle, cruising the streets.
Almost all the shops were shuttered, save one. A hand-written sign in the window announced free coffee and tea, as well as a space to be with others from the community in case one wasn't comfortable being at home alone. I thought what a wonderfully kind gesture. Which reminds me now of the incredible demonstrations of generous spirit from people everywhere in the days that followed---REMEMBER?!
We packed off boxes of food, clothes, pet and emergency supplies. People stood in line outside of every Red Cross building across America to donate blood. We were selfless, and anyone who had anything to give did so.
If only we could tap into this part of ourselves more often. If only we remembered those who work so hard every day to keep us and our neighborhoods safe on more than just this one day. Food for thought, eh?
Finally, I recommend listening to one father's tale of losing his two sons 9.11.2001. Then count your blessings, and tell those you love how much you care about them.
Photo from NPR, courtesy of the Vigiano family.
