Weekends blur into weekdays after retirement. Routines become malleable after moving from the country to the city. Today we might go out for lunch, or we might not. September is always a busy time of year, but with impromptu wine and cheese parties popping up, where we meet our new neighbors – “Oh, you moved from Chicago two weeks ago?” – and try to remember their names and their dogs’ names, I forgot what day it is, until I remembered.
The phone call from Great Grandma Ada, telling me to turn on the TV
The shock of standing alone in Rumson, across the shipping lanes from Wall Street
Calling the Bride in a government building in DC, then she suddenly hangs up
Listening to her voice hours later, after she walked back to Adams Morgan
Calling my sister Kay and my nephew Robert, who live in Manhattan
Waiting to hear from Bob, who was waiting for casualties at a dock
Waiting for the Rocker to return from high school, not knowing where he was
Driving on empty streets to the Red Cross to donate blood
Talking to a neighbor, who was walking her baby frantically up and down, up and down the street and rambling about knitting booties for rescue dogs
This morning the Bride told me she was having a hard time waking up. It could be because she worked yesterday and then afterwards threw a party at her house. It could be because it’s an overcast, cold day in Nashville. Or it could be because waking up to this day every year brings our fragility into sharp focus. Because sixteen years ago we woke up to a nightmare followed by funerals with empty coffins.
We remember our neighbor on Buena Vista Avenue who perished in a Tower. We remember our friend’s mentor who was a judge on one of the planes. This morning we vow to #NeverForget all those innocent people who lost their lives going to work, the rescue personnel who perished and became sick from digging in the Pit of millions of tons of steel and the ash of human remains. And their families. We will always remember.
Picture from National Geographic archives – 6 months after 9/11 while the Pit still burns
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