9/11
I'm watching a documentary about the firefighters on 9/11 on the History Channel, and it's bringing back memories of that day. There's enough distance between then and now that I appreciate re-visiting the events and the feelings. There's been a degree of healing and letting go and acceptance, I feel, for many Americans, and, I sense, among some of the family and friends of the victims. Healing provides emotional distance.
It's bizarre to look at the images of the suffering that day and to think about all the bloodshed and suffering that have come about as a direct result. I honestly feel that on that day, the terrorists won. They got us. They overwhelmed us beyond our capacity to cope and broke the heart of the nation; they brought down the fiercest lion in the world, so to speak. The ramifications are endless. That's a big accomplishment for a few thugs.
My mom woke me up early that morning to say that the Pentagon and WTC had been bombed. I threw the covers off and dashed into the living room. I ended up sitting in front of the television all day, and into the night, since events were unfolding rapidly and information kept changing. I didn't know what the twin towers looked like before they fell, but when I saw one of them crumble, I cried out to my dad, who was in the kitchen, because I knew it wasn't right.
The hardest part for me, when I broke down, was seeing all the notes left by relatives asking about their loved ones--have you seen uncle so-and-so? That was the worst part. The rest was pretty surreal. It was also hard to see New Yorkers running for their lives. It was like a horror film, but real. It really puts into perspective gratuitous violence in films.
That December my parents and I went to ground zero, and it looked and felt like a tomb. So silent. So gray, so ghostlike. There were tons of signs and flowers and memorials all over the place, and I broke down again. It was heartbreaking to see family members holding out hope when it was pretty clear to everyone else that their loved ones were dead.
It struck New York city on a whole other level from the rest of the nation. It was very personal; everywhere we went in the city there were flowers and candles and notes in front of fire stations. It was very different to be there; it felt as if New York had taken the attack personally.
It's bizarre to look at the images of the suffering that day and to think about all the bloodshed and suffering that have come about as a direct result. I honestly feel that on that day, the terrorists won. They got us. They overwhelmed us beyond our capacity to cope and broke the heart of the nation; they brought down the fiercest lion in the world, so to speak. The ramifications are endless. That's a big accomplishment for a few thugs.
My mom woke me up early that morning to say that the Pentagon and WTC had been bombed. I threw the covers off and dashed into the living room. I ended up sitting in front of the television all day, and into the night, since events were unfolding rapidly and information kept changing. I didn't know what the twin towers looked like before they fell, but when I saw one of them crumble, I cried out to my dad, who was in the kitchen, because I knew it wasn't right.
The hardest part for me, when I broke down, was seeing all the notes left by relatives asking about their loved ones--have you seen uncle so-and-so? That was the worst part. The rest was pretty surreal. It was also hard to see New Yorkers running for their lives. It was like a horror film, but real. It really puts into perspective gratuitous violence in films.
That December my parents and I went to ground zero, and it looked and felt like a tomb. So silent. So gray, so ghostlike. There were tons of signs and flowers and memorials all over the place, and I broke down again. It was heartbreaking to see family members holding out hope when it was pretty clear to everyone else that their loved ones were dead.
It struck New York city on a whole other level from the rest of the nation. It was very personal; everywhere we went in the city there were flowers and candles and notes in front of fire stations. It was very different to be there; it felt as if New York had taken the attack personally.
Comments