9/11 Plus Twenty-Something
Sitting with our national trauma
A few years ago, while in a leadership program for military veterans and “family of the fallen,” I met a young woman. J—’s brother was a 9/11 first responder, a junior Officer with the NYPD. In a photo from 9/11, J—’s brother was standing in the street, escorting a sobbing woman in a grey business suit away from Ground Zero. He was breathing heavily, shoulders of his police uniform covered in white soot. Within minutes, he was inside the South Tower again, escorting more people out when the unimaginable happened.
J— was only in grade school on September 11, 2001, but she very clearly revered her brother, who was an honest-to-God hero. Talking about him twenty years later, her eyes filled with tears, and she was soon wracked with sobs.
I watched the towers fall live on CNN from the safety of my Navy A-School in South Carolina. It was a stunning event to witness; for me, for everyone around me at the base, for America, for the world. Over the years, I tried to forget the horror of those images. The explosions, the burning, the smoke.
For those who’s loved ones were among the 3,000 killed that day, I can’t imagine your grief. Even at my great distance from the events, I find that I am claustrophobic now in a way I never was before 9/11. Every time I enter a parking garage, or a skyscraper, while I may look fine on the surface, I am glazed in anxiety. Each time I fly, I wonder if I would have the courage to take out a terrorist trying to hijack the flight. If you were cognizant of the events on that day, you know it’s a perpetual battle to heal from that trauma.
April is National Poetry Month! I aim to post a poem each weekday in celebration of the form. Some old, some new, some published, some never-before-seen.
Breathtaking 😢