I started writing a post last night about home decorating and improvement from my “empty nester” point of view. But when I woke up this morning, there were reminders of this horrific event that is now 15 years old.
Back in the late 1970’s I worked in the WTC. While I have good memories of working there, I never felt fully “safe” there–the elevators shook and swayed and the building seemed to be a Tower of Babel of sorts.
Probably the most intriguing memory was the morning when Philippe Petit took a highwire stroll across the towers. We all agreed he was a friggin’ nut! But we all wanted him to make it across safely.
Nobody could have imagined the horror that would take place in the future. The mass murder affected many of us. I still get emotional when I see the view of Manhattan from across the river. She never looks as “long” anymore.
To date, I’ve not gone to the memorial. It’s hard because I can visualize the faces with a good number of the names. I don’t want to have a visual of their last moments. It’s too much.
Today, 15 years later, I still get weepy over this. We simply cannot forget. I’m not going to politicize this. There is no need. I just want to repost what I wrote last year without a change.
Thanks for understanding. My humor will return tomorrow!
Never forgotten. pic.twitter.com/jGioC5GQ1T
— Cathe Lartigue (@CatheUrbanski) September 11, 2015
Anniversaries are reminders of special days. They may not be great reminders and they may be fantastic reminders.
Today is an anniversary of sorts. It has been 14 years since the catastrophic event of the Twin Towers in New York City.
My then-husband was out of the United States on a business trip.
My oldest son, Jake, had entered into his Freshman year at University of Texas in Austin.
Roman was a Sophomore in high school and Oona was in seventh grade in middle school.
I was home, I was getting dressed and just about to sit at the computer.
Ruby, my Yellow Lab, and Dorothy, my Bassett Hound was at my feet.
The TV was on.
I was not watching the TV, but I heard that a plane crashed into one of the two towers.
My first thought was “Holy shit. I used to work in that building”.
I could not for the life of me, figure out how that could have happened.
Then I thought about how nervous I was working in the WTC to begin with. The elevators drifted from side to side because they worked at such an incredible speed.
The building itself seemed to sway in the winter’s wind.
Then—it happened again and we all knew that something was not right.
The Pentagon exploded.
The plane went down in Pennsylvania.
America, as we know it, changed from an innocent and idealistic child of a country into a geographical and historic grown up. We were violated and we were wounded by extremist hatred.
Videos and images of bodies jumping from the towers, videos of the crashes, videos of a destroyed downtown were constantly aired to keep us informed.
Those images were horrific.
Worse than that, were the videos of the extremists who were living in these United States of America, celebrating these horrific events. Celebrating because they are filled with hatred. Celebrating because they are bigoted against Western society, yet they seemed to enjoy living in this society.
I remember losing people I grew up with. Losing people who lived in my neighborhood in NYC.
I remember one of my former playground moms having a son who was a waiter at “Windows On The World”. A while later his arm was found. He was identified by his tattoo.
His tattooed arm was closure.
Another young neighborhood kid was a fireman who went into the building and never made it out.
One of my cousins, a battalion chief for the NYFD, took the morning off so that his wife could go to the doctor. His entire battalion was killed. My cousin, Patrick, died seven months later.
That day, it seemed that the world was on our side.
That day, it seemed like our entire being as Americans were bound together.
We aren’t though.
We still have hatred and bigotry in our own back yard. We have hatred toward the LBGT community.
Hatred and bigotry still live within the confines of our borders in the form of politicians and “Christian” extremists.
People get pissed off because security measures at airports are too strict and those measures cut into their selfish time.
People get pissed off because, in trying to make our beautiful country a safer place for her citizens, they don’t want stricter gun laws.
People get pissed off because they don’t believe that others should be able to love who they want to love.
When will we learn?
I haven’t forgotten. But I certainly am not yet ready to forgive the evil that still dwells among us.
THIS is the image I chose to remember the anniversary of 9/11 with. The cross is hope. It is of a cross that was found at the site and taken to rest at Good Shepherd Church–my old parish in Inwood. Many parishioners were murdered that day…..
There are no words………….
Hope that one day, we will all be able to accept others as they are and the world will be a better place.
Listen. Hope is great…and I always attach a song. Today, I’m still doing that, but it’s a happy and hopeful one. “High Hopes”—because that is what we all need! XOXOXOXO!
We also need to go back to innocence–just like the kids in the video!
