I remember 9/11, of course. I watched much of it occur in plain view from a fair distance in Queens. I remember thinking even before the second airliner hit the south tower that it was an act of terrorism. It was such a clear day, not a cloud in the sky. Nobody accidentally flew a plane into the tower.
I watched the smoke rise and the towers fall. I wondered how many thousands of people must have died. One of my co-workers that day was with the FDNY. He shuddered as he watched, because he knew his company was there. He knew his friends were gone. They were too close not to be there. And he was right. They were gone.
I remember they closed down the bridges and there was no way to go home. I just had to wait until they decided to reopen them. I remember getting home towards evening and holding my children so close. My son was old enough to know something was very wrong and my daughter was just a baby. I heard Sue from down the street was unable to contain her grief about her husband Paul, who had a meeting on the upper floors of one of the towers that morning. She hadn’t heard from him all day. She was certain he was dead and she was right too.
I remember all the love and all the hate. I remember. I remember.
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