Today is the 13th anniversary of 9/11/2001. I still remember where I was when I learned - the quiet and innocent moments that preceded my knowledge gain and the confused, tarnished, emotional moments that subsequently followed.
But I couldn't figure out if I should write anything in reflection, 13 years later, as I have in previous years. Then I read chapter 1 of this book and decided I needed to note a relevant earmark. The first chapter, "Delay" focuses on a women who survived the '93 World Trade Center Bombings and the attacks in 2001 (by the way, "attack" just doesn't seem enough of a word for that day). The following description stood out - a moment when she made it out of Tower 1 but ended up in the rumble of the buildings' collapses:
"She moved and stumbled over some debris, falling on top of someone else. It turned out to be a police officer. He was screaming that his eyes were burning. And at the same time, he was telling her, 'Don't worry, don't worry! We're going to get out of here.' Zedano could see his hands shaking. But she never saw his face.
By then, her anger had vanished again. She got very quiet. It helped to have a police officer there, even though he was hurt. Then she heard a voice: 'I found a way out. Everybody, hold hands.' And that's what they did."
The moment I read "Everybody, hold hands." My stomach rose to my throat. The image, although simple, not only was really but FELT real. It felt like a description of how I felt following the day. Confused, yet comforted by those around me grappling with similar struggles and emotions- and metaphorically, so many of us joining hands to get through it.
Cliche, but that's how this writing struck me at this moment. And I wanted to note it first because of the anniversary but second because of how vivid that day and those feelings still are.
I know we remark about Pearl Harbor and D-Day; we discuss important dates and have moments of recognition for those who fell, or for the history of that moment. But I feel like we do so much more every 9/11, and I wonder of there can ever be an anniversary where we don't call for moments of silence and see tributes across all media.
Likely, that day will come - maybe when less people who were there are gone. But I don't know. This event feels so different, and the feeling so enduring - that I literally cannot imagine a day where it is a fleeting, 3 minute news story of rememberance.
If anything, because every 9/11, I do feel a moment when we're holding hands again - for the moments we remember where we were, where we see how others are feeling, when we hear the names of victims or images of survivors. Images of rubble and waves of ash - the last moments of tall buildings, crumbling like a Jenga set.
That hand holding matters. And maybe that's how we will also move on, but with the small bits of our hearts chipped and clinging to the memory.
To books that serve as reminders,
~MJ
