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Last Friday night (September 11), I arrived home from work relatively early to find Jason watching NY1. Like they've done before, NY1 had spent the day running tape of their real-time coverage from September 11, 2001.
I am one of lucky ones. I did not know anyone killed on 9/11. A couple of my friends were directly affected (and still are) by the events of that day. But, outside of my sadness for the victims and outrage over the damage a group of fanatics was able to perpetrate, what sticks with me now is how I felt about losing those two towers. The towers that framed my earliest childhood days in NYC; that filled my airplane window on repeat visits to the city after we'd moved away; that excited and welcomed me when I returned to live here in my 20s.
Swirling around with all the other emotions I experienced on 9/11 was my initial feeling of shock and sadness at the towers having been so badly marred. I remember wondering how they were going to repair that gaping hole all the way up there and picturing how atrocious the buildings would look until repairs were done. Next, I felt shock and sorrow at the grotesque sight of one tower standing by itself, alone on the skyline without its twin. Next, utter devastation as both towers vanished from our skyline forever.
To this day, a sense of disbelief prevails.
Now, years later, when I watch coverage of the events of that day, I am struck with a feeling of loss not unlike what I've felt for a beloved pet. It's as though I've spent the past eight years mourning a trusted friend. And still, I mourn for those buildings and the lives lost inside them. I have read, talked and thought quite a bit about 9/11 since that day, but have always tried to avoid visual imagery. It's too painful to see the look of fear and sorrow on witnesses' faces, to see images of firefighters rushing in to the buildings, of the buildings themselves crumbling with so many souls inside.
Yet, this year, I could not tear myself away from the images. I felt as though I owed it to the victims and the towers themselves to revisit that day, to remember and to reflect. I needed to remind myself how fortunate and how grateful I am to have survived that day and to have not lost anyone close to me. Watching the news with Jason, I laid my head in his lap and and held him close, remembering the overwhelming loneliness I felt on the night of 9/11, when I did not have him (or anyone) beside me on the couch as I am so lucky to have now.
After Jason went to bed, I watched a couple of hours of A&E's coverage with a very heavy heart, but a sense of duty to the victims and the towers themselves not to change the channel. I felt I owed it to myself and to those who were sacrificed to reflect as intensely as I did this year, after so many years of passively marking the anniversary. I realized you don't need to lose a family member or dear friend to be in mourning. I still mourn.