9/11

Yesterday was the 8th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. I know we all remember the same images of flame, smoke, and ash on a bright, sunny morning. Even those of us who were nowhere near New York City have those same images burned into our memories. For some, it was only the most recent of several of those age-defining moments, the events in which everyone old enough at the time can remember exactly where they were and what they were doing when it happened. For some of us -- like me -- it was the first of such moments. I wasn't born yet when the Challenger exploded. I was too young to be aware of the beginning of the Gulf War. Likewise, I did not know about the first terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center in the early 90s. September 11, 2001, was the first time when I shared a defining moment with the rest of the nation, and that day's images of destruction occurring hundreds of miles away are burned into my consciousness in a way that seems too vivid to be real.

But it was real.

Yesterday looked entirely different than the September 11 of 8 years ago. It was grey and rainy, with blustering wind turning umbrellas inside out. It was cold, too -- many of us wore jackets for the first time since we've been here. In the afternoon, as I gazed out my window at the Bronx, looking hazy in the rain, I reflected on 9/11. I felt compassion, of course, for the people affected by it, and especially the families and friends who lost loved ones, but a part of me wondered why we were still making such a big deal about it. Smaller disasters happen more frequently -- take, for example, the I-35W bridge collapse back in Minnesota -- and on top of that, any family who loses a loved one goes through the same anguish that the 9/11 survivors felt, but these don't receive national news coverage or presidential addresses. 9/11 was certainly a disaster and a tragedy, but why do we agonize over it year after year?


My perspective changed this morning, when I visited Ground Zero. All I could see at first was a vast fence surrounding the area; I was not high enough to see in.


It was another grey day, with rain sprinkling on and off, but I was not the only one there. The ceremonies and speeches happened yesterday, but there were plenty of people there today as well. I soon came upon The Firefighters' Monument, a bronze relief across from Ground Zero. Many people had left flowers and luminaries, and the monument itself was a beautiful tribute to the firefighters who lost their lives trying to save others.



As I walked around the entirety of Ground Zero, I was able to catch a few glimpses through the fence at the construction zone. It looked just like that -- a construction zone. Not a pile of rubble and ash, not the gleaming towers that used to be there, not the reflective memorial that it will be: something in between, something less ordered than a building or monument, something that still strikes the observer as being less than ideal, even undesirable.


But there is still patriotism at work. This is not just any construction project; it has a proud purpose, and we won't forget it.


And along the way, even those who could not help build could still contribute. As the ugly, gaping hole in the city is gradually filled with something shiny and new, those who have come to reflect can fill the stark construction zone with beauty, too.



My final stop was a small museum showcasing the plans for the monument. It looks like it will be a serene, reflective place. I know there has been controversy surrounding the designs for the monument, and I certainly do not know much about it. However, if it is a place of remembrance, reflection, and respect -- as it appears to be from the models -- then I cannot think of anything more appropriate.


That wasn't the only thing at the museum, though. Along the wall, there were pictures and a timeline of the events of 9/11. Seeing those pictures again -- the buildings with thick, black smoke pouring out, the looks of shock, fear, and numbness on the faces of the New Yorkers, all against the backdrop of a perfect blue sky --gave me chills. I was perfectly warm, but I had goosebumps. This is why we still remember, why we "never forget." It's because we unexpectedly experienced a sickening feeling of vulnerability that we've never felt before.

I never saw New York before the attacks. I don't know what it would have looked like if the Twin Towers had still been there. I can't even legitimately call myself a New Yorker (yet). But I can say this: New York is now my city, too. I will never know what it was like before 9/11, but I know what it is now, and what it means to me. I feel a profound connection with this place even with only a short time here so far. As an American, I feel proud of my country, and I hope we will always remember to have faith in it, and especially in its people. And that is why we never forget.