09/11/2023
Time is a wild concept to me. Anyone who knows me, knows that time management isnāt my strongest suit. Itās hard to believe that the time in between life altering events seems non-existent. However, when you are within the bounds of time that outline these major events in our lives, time seems to come to a haltā¦as if you will be in that time period forever. Itās hard to believe that 22 years has elapsed since the Towers collapsed on 9/11/01. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was in my new art class in my sophomore year of high school. Our art teacher was the guy that loved to share his morning routing with his students, and kept the radio going in the morning. As if we were all sitting in on his morning breakfast and coffee with him, taking in the slow ease of a new day. I remember hearing a break in the music and a news cast came over the radio about a plane hitting one of the Trade Center Towers. This was insane to be hearing. I had never really been exposed to something to jarring, so close to home. Growing up on Long Island, NYC was like our weekend playground. 9 out of 10 families had a parent who commuted to work in NYC, as it was a short train ride away. My Dad had been one of them. He worked on Varick St. in downtown Manhattan for close to 30 years. It was hard to connect the dots or make sense of your feelings when you hear something like this on the news. You are no longer so far removed from danger. Itās in your front yard. While our teachers themselves had to make sense of what was happening in our very immediate world, they also had 1200 students in the building that they all of a sudden had to help move about their day without letting the somber reality of what would be set in just yet. It had only been first period, and there was still a full day ahead of us, with no clue as to how to navigate it all. By 5th period, I had settled into Italian classā¦still feeling like we were just being shuffled from room to room in a state of complete brain fog. Each period, we would hear announcements come over the loud speaker, calling student after student down to the office to be picked up by parents or loved ones. And each time the loudspeaker would ping, everyoneās heart would drop. As the loudspeaker pinged in 5th period, we all went silent to hear who would be called next. This time, it was me. My heart sank into my stomach. I was escorted out of class, to my locker to collect my things, and brought to the front office. As my chaperone and I walked closer to the office, I saw my Mother standing in the middle of the hallway in tears. It was like a punch to the gut. I asked her about my Dad, and she let me know Dad was ok, and āyour Dad is at Papa Tomās burial today. He didnāt go to work today.ā I felt relieved, and heartbroken at the same time. I felt thankful that my Grandfather had been looking after my Dad that day, and made sure he was not at work. But I felt heartbroken, because I knew my situation was very different than many others would experience. I knew most of my peers and classmates would not be as lucky as I was. As the days went by, I watched many of my classmates whose parents were fire fighters, or police officers, or city workers, lie in wait to receive a semblance of hope or communication from their loved ones arrived. I went to school with 1200 kids. And, as I mentioned, many of these kids had parents who commuted daily to work in NYC. It was very hard to watch people that youāve sat next to for years in school, have their lives ripped out from under them. People that youāve laughed and smiled with, have to experience such heavy grief. I prayed for those same people then. And I say a prayer for them still, 22 years later. I hope they have added happiness to their lives since those dark days. And I know that we all felt HUMAN on that day 22 years ago. Letās get back to the human condition, and show some love to one another. Itās still hard to believe, 22 years later, but we must NEVER FORGET.
