Has it already been ten years since that beautiful September morning? When I woke up to the bluest sky I had ever seen, and thought that I would take my seven month old baby to the park when I got home from work? Ten years since those sweet thoughts turned to horror? Since I took the crowded subway into Manhattan, a subway that would be empty for the next week? Ten years since I heard my husband's frantic voice on the phone, saying, thank God you're okay, and then wondered how many husbands and wives never got that relief? Ten years since I thought for a scary moment that I might not make it home to my young son? Ten years since I hugged him so tight with relief when I finally made it back to Brooklyn, that it made all those standing around me cry? Ten years since I cried for all those babies whose parents didn't get back that day? Since the towers turned into a pillar of smoke before our shocked eyes? Ten years since I wondered how many people were killed in those buildings? Ten years since the city was covered in ash? Ten years since 343 firefighters bravely rushed into the towers? Since hundreds of volunteers came to ground zero to help search for any possible survivors? Ten years since the hospital where I worked prepared to accept and treat hundreds of wounded? Ten years since no wounded ever showed up? Ten years since every surface in Manhattan was covered with missing person posters for weeks after the attack? How can it be ten years, when the memories are as fresh as if it just happened?
No comments:
Post a Comment