Friday, September 14, 2001 |
the solace I was hoping to find in the sanctity of dinner at home on Friday night, was broken by the regular rounds of the roar of the jet fights passing overhead in regulation with the presidential visit.
Saturday, September 15, 2001
And the sun shines again. Never had I thought would the resuming sound of commercial flights passing above be so welcome. The noise was for once comforting. Because for days our state of emergency required the skies to remain arrested in their police state.
Things are improving but there is reason to cry almost everyday.
Monday, September 17, 2001
It is too early in our mourning to be proud.
The Daily News, Monday, September 17, 2001
This morning's Daily News headlines:
"The flyers, just about all of them white, some with color, photographs on them, some in black and white, are everywhere on 26th Street, starting with the windows of the Staples store at Park Avenue and stretching all the way to the walls of the old 69th Regiment Armory, the victims information center that has become a cathedral for lost souls."
I work at on 26th Street at Park Avenue. At lunch I went over to view what I had previously seen only as a scattering around my office.. The hundreds, if not thousands, of signs of mourning now cover several walls of all the surrounding buildings to the Armory; they sprawl like ivy, each leaf a prayer of hope for someone lost. There are now four or five city blocks of these makeshift memorials and they seem to be growing exponentially.
We are quickly becoming the City of Missing Persons.
September 28, 2001
Rain and administration have washed away the thousands of missing person posters from the Armory Building which once housed the reporting center for affected families. Now it has been moved uptown and the station has transitioned into the place to go to register for death certificates.
Hundreds of posters still remain hung on the surrounding walls of adjacent buildings. There is also a prominent wall on the side of the Staples store shielded by the scaffolding which had been erected prior to "9/11." Underneath the planks and the metal pipes a new and harrowing tribute has been hung next to worn portraits and spilled wax. It is a long chain of a hundred or so multicolored construction paper rings, each bearing the name of a lost loved one inscribed by what is undoubtedly a different child's hand.
The fact that those who have died are memorialized in such a fashion is sad enough, but to have to expose young children to this tragedy and explain our mortality in such a way is grief of much greater weight.
I don't remember when I first learned about death, and have been fortunate enough not to have lost someone close, yet. But yet, I am plagued with empathy.
It seems that I will not have reached the depth of my sorrow until I have shed a tristful tear for each lost soul.
And everyday, I cry a little more.
I know not what it does to me, but everyday I cry a little more.
December 12, 2001
It appears that things are getting back to normal, for unscrupulous corporate America is taking advantage of our fascination with tragedy by publishing dozens of 9/11 pictorials. As almost uneasy as I feel about the ugly commercial venture I admittedly have glanced through a few in the check-out line (where they strategic place these books to prey on people who in a hurry do not have time to think about a whimsical purchase prompted by a swell of emotion). And, after some reflection thought perhaps this might prove a worthwhile exception to my otherwise opposition to such a frivolous purchase. My primary personal justification, is the universal feeling that we should "never forget." If there is any single feeling that I have accepted makes me no different from the less-discriminate masses, it is this one sentiment that we should not allow this atrocious deed fade into the background of our lives, especially since we are fortunate enough just to be alive.
hinc illae lacrimae.