I remember this like it was yesterday. I am surprised at how strongly the memory of it remains.
I remember the concerns of the class mothers, who were thinking about what to do with the children in our little school in a town, on one of the commuter train lines to NYC, when it came time for them to go home.
They did not know who would not be showing up, and exactly what to do about it.
I remember the line of the mourners and hearses at the very large group funeral service at our local church. And the plaque we put up at the train station with the names of those who died.
I remember hearing about the woman who put one of her husband’s suits on the bed, and just laid down next to it, and cried for her loss.
I remember those brave responders, and so many others, who gave their lives assisting others, in the last full measure of devotion.
I remember seeing the fear in people’s eyes for days afterwards, and how that fear was used.
And how Wall Street and the government beat its breast, and wrapped itself in the flag.
I look on how we have acted since then, and where we have been led.
Ours is certainly not the only tragedy in the world. But it has been given to us, and is ours.
Who can say what will happen? Only time. And those of us who still live, and how we abide.
dc.sunsets
September 11, 2014 10:38 pm
The association of this beautiful song from Enya with the events of that day made it nearly impossible to enjoy the song.
dc.sunsets
September 11, 2014 10:42 pm
Every death is a tragedy.
Is it worse if a man dies at age 45 via a mass act of violence? A single act of murder, or negligence, or a massive myocardial infarction, stroke, or a falling tree branch?
The same number of lives end early each month on America’s roads as ended 13 years ago. Are any of those left any less grief-stricken?
Loss is loss. Grief is the price we pay for love.
The trick, then, is to love intensely, so when the grief comes, the juice was worth the squeeze.
Kill Bill
September 11, 2014 11:58 pm
You cry at my funeral I will haunt you and no one wants that. Remember the good times, drink till your gills are clogged…+)
Jesse:
I remember this like it was yesterday. I am surprised at how strongly the memory of it remains.
I remember the concerns of the class mothers, who were thinking about what to do with the children in our little school in a town, on one of the commuter train lines to NYC, when it came time for them to go home.
They did not know who would not be showing up, and exactly what to do about it.
I remember the line of the mourners and hearses at the very large group funeral service at our local church. And the plaque we put up at the train station with the names of those who died.
I remember hearing about the woman who put one of her husband’s suits on the bed, and just laid down next to it, and cried for her loss.
I remember those brave responders, and so many others, who gave their lives assisting others, in the last full measure of devotion.
I remember seeing the fear in people’s eyes for days afterwards, and how that fear was used.
And how Wall Street and the government beat its breast, and wrapped itself in the flag.
I look on how we have acted since then, and where we have been led.
Ours is certainly not the only tragedy in the world. But it has been given to us, and is ours.
Who can say what will happen? Only time. And those of us who still live, and how we abide.
The association of this beautiful song from Enya with the events of that day made it nearly impossible to enjoy the song.
Every death is a tragedy.
Is it worse if a man dies at age 45 via a mass act of violence? A single act of murder, or negligence, or a massive myocardial infarction, stroke, or a falling tree branch?
The same number of lives end early each month on America’s roads as ended 13 years ago. Are any of those left any less grief-stricken?
Loss is loss. Grief is the price we pay for love.
The trick, then, is to love intensely, so when the grief comes, the juice was worth the squeeze.
You cry at my funeral I will haunt you and no one wants that. Remember the good times, drink till your gills are clogged…+)
With Love ~B