In these days leading up to the 10th anniversary of September 11th, I've been mulling over in my head what--and whether--to write here about what I experienced on that horrific day and the weeks that followed. Over the last 10 years, I've made countless attempts to tell that story, but the task overwhelms me, and I usually just end up abandoning the draft. Someday I will probably write a book because there is just too much to say for one small blog post; however, I cannot remain silent about the headlines I woke up to on the T.V. this morning: Mayor Bloomberg Says There's Not Enough Room For First Responders And Firefighters To Attend Memorial Services On 9-11.
My husband said it best: holding a 9-11 memorial service without the firefighters is like dedicating the Vietnam Memorial without the soldiers. It is so mind boggling, infuriating and outrageous to me, I am almost rendered speechless.
I know that every American's experience of 9-11 is uniquely personal. I know that all Americans, not just New Yorkers or those at the Pentagon, were attacked on that day. But for the New Yorkers who witnessed the horror in person, and lived and breathed the aftermath, there is one devastating memory we all share: the enshrined firehouses.
When closed off areas of lower Manhattan slowly began to open up again, you couldn't walk through a neighborhood without noticing the firehouse doors covered with flowers and candle wax. Entire firehouses were shut down, completely wiped out because their firefighters ran into the towers and never came back out. These firehouses were wallpapered with children's drawings and cartoons of firetrucks with messages that read things like, "I love you daddy," and "Thank you. You are our heroes."
I once heard someone who was not from New York ask, callously, "Are they really heroes? I mean, it's sad, but weren't they just doing their jobs?"
Even if you can ignore the fact that there is an element of heroism inherent in just signing on for a job that requires you put your life on the line every time you set out to do it, the answer to that question is still an emphatic Yes, they are heroes. These individuals--the police and firefighters alike--went so far above and beyond what was required and expected, they were no longer just doing their jobs when they died. First responders ran into the towers as they were being ordered to get out. They ignored calls for evacuation from their captains and chiefs and gave up their lives trying to save just one last person, refusing to abandoned those who couldn't get out. If they don't deserve to be called heroes, no one does.
A few days after the towers fell, I rode home on the subway sitting across from what seemed like a giant man at the time. I remember thinking he was a police officer. I don't remember if he had a badge on his belt, or if he just looked like a plain-clothes cop, but I definitely had the impression he was NYPD. He was a strong looking black man with a commanding presence. As I sat directly across from this man, he suddenly put his face in his hands and began sobbing like no one was there. I think the train was full, but it felt like we were the only two passengers in the world. I knew what this man had witnessed, experienced and endured was more than what any human being could be expected to bear. And I sat there helpless, knowing there was nothing in the world I could do to ease his pain.
It is incomprehensible to me that there could be any kind of 10th anniversary memorial service without the first responders present. The memory of the firefighters and the policemen who gave their lives on September 11, 2001 need to be honored alongside the civilians who perished that day. The only thing I have to say to Mayor Bloomberg is, What the hell are you thinking?
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The following link is to a very moving piece written by the brother of one of the fallen firefighters:
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424053111904716604576546661793655324.html?mod=WSJ_Opinion_LEFTTopOpinion
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