I'm apologizing in advance for the scatteredness of this post.
I'm not sure why this year kicked me in the gut, but it did. I woke up this morning unaware, not remembering what this day means. The sky was grey and rain poured down from the heavens--so different from that crystal clear day 6 years ago. I still remember hearing Katie Couric's voice coming from the living room of my apartment in L.A. I remember coming out and seeing the images of the buildings on fire--and trying to figure out why they were showing footage from 1993. Then, I realized the smoke was coming from much higher up. My mind started racing.
The first building fell on my drive to work. I was on the phone with my aunt, trying to figure out what the hell was going on...but there were no answers. I walked into the teacher's room just before the north tower fell--the 3rd grade teacher saw my face and reached out to turn off the television. I stopped him. I had to watch. I had to see it happen--because it didn't seem real. Seconds later, it was all gone.
I've never been to the Statue of Liberty; I've never been to the top of the Empire State Building; I've spent limited time in Central Park. When you grow up going in and out of Manhattan on a weekly or monthly basis, you take all of it for granted. But I'd been to the top of the World Trade Center. I'm not sure why we decided to go up that day...my father took the train into the WTC every day, and when we would spend a day at his office, we took the train in there too. I can still remember the feeling of looking up and having those towers block out the sun.
The highest point in Bergen County is less than a mile from my house in NJ. From there, you can see the entire New York skyline. It's how my sister realized that something was terribly wrong that day--she saw smoke billowing from the silhouettes. Every time I go home, I can only see the hole in that skyline. Today, my father and my little brother take the train into the pit where the World Trade Center once stood. A daily reminder...
Today, though, I found myself thinking about the people. I thought about Mr. Gregory and his booming voice...I went to school with his kids and even babysat for them a few times. Mrs. Gregory was teaching with my mother that morning.
The first building fell on my drive to work. I was on the phone with my aunt, trying to figure out what the hell was going on...but there were no answers. I walked into the teacher's room just before the north tower fell--the 3rd grade teacher saw my face and reached out to turn off the television. I stopped him. I had to watch. I had to see it happen--because it didn't seem real. Seconds later, it was all gone.
I've never been to the Statue of Liberty; I've never been to the top of the Empire State Building; I've spent limited time in Central Park. When you grow up going in and out of Manhattan on a weekly or monthly basis, you take all of it for granted. But I'd been to the top of the World Trade Center. I'm not sure why we decided to go up that day...my father took the train into the WTC every day, and when we would spend a day at his office, we took the train in there too. I can still remember the feeling of looking up and having those towers block out the sun.
The highest point in Bergen County is less than a mile from my house in NJ. From there, you can see the entire New York skyline. It's how my sister realized that something was terribly wrong that day--she saw smoke billowing from the silhouettes. Every time I go home, I can only see the hole in that skyline. Today, my father and my little brother take the train into the pit where the World Trade Center once stood. A daily reminder...
Today, though, I found myself thinking about the people. I thought about Mr. Gregory and his booming voice...I went to school with his kids and even babysat for them a few times. Mrs. Gregory was teaching with my mother that morning.
I thought about Pat Hoey. I never met him, but his sister is one of my mother's best friends. I grew up with his nieces. I think of him every time I drive over the George Washington Bridge, his bridge, his pride and joy (well, after his wife and kids!). Pat Hoey was responsible for lighting the bridge from the inside...and for the HUGE flag that flies on holidays.
That's this day.
2 comments:
kris, what a tribute. what heart you have. i know all this too. it was so close. the line is so thin.
xo
Thank you for this, K ... it's beautiful ... ((hugs))
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