Another September 11 is upon us. When I think of of September 11, I remember all the lives lost, all the acts of heroism, the immediate unity we all coalesced under. And I remember the awful time that followed here in New York City. The tragedy itself, the immediate grief, and the painful aftermath are all rolled up into one for me when September 11 is mentioned.
Let me state for the record, I didn’t lose anyone on September 11. The closest I came at the time to even knowing someone who did was a co-worker at my new job (which I started on September 12, a day later than I was supposed to have) who lost her mother.
But I did live here. I lived through that time, as all of us did who lived and worked here. I remember the eerie quiet in the city the in the days just after. I remember the overwhelming smell that stuck to the back of your throat. The odd haze that hung over the skyline and down city blocks. How it seemed we were all walking around in a daze.
I don’t state this as badge of experience. I realize that my experience was not unique, that my direct connection could have been so much worse- as it was for many. My geographic proximity to the tragedy by no means earns me some sort of participation trophy. And yet, the phrase “never forget” drives me to anger. As if anyone one of us who waded their way through the aftermath of that awful day needs to be reminded to NOT forget. For a lot of us that live here still, we aren’t really afforded the option of forgetting. I remember September 11 every day. When I get on the subway. When a group of sirens blares louder than normal. When I see random National Guards armed with assault rifles posted in public places. When I look out my window at work at see a plane seemingly flying lower than usual. It always takes me back to that time. That any number of mundane daily activities, like going to work, can be putting yourself in harm’s way. So yeah, I don’t forget. I’ve never forgotten.
However, as I’ve stated, and apparently need to remind myself: this tragedy doesn’t belong to me by any stretch. Everyone is entitled to their piece of it, to their own pain. And while I am entitled to my anger, I don’t need to be angry at someone else’s grief. It doesn’t matter if you lived around the corner from the Pentagon or in North Dakota - this was a crime committed against America, against humanity. If you count yourself among either of those groups you get to process your pain how you want. If “never forget” is your tribute to the heroes, the lost- if it’s what you say because you don’t what else to say? You’re allowed. Because what else is there to say? Today should be about love and continued healing. I’m still working on that, I guess. And after seventeen years, I suppose that’s what makes me angry.