Tuesday, September 11, 2012

i remember ...

... sitting in disbelief watching it on TV, my sister and me in silence on the phone together  

... finally connecting with my friend, Christopher, on his mobile; he lived on West St and his terrace looked directly at the towers about 5 blocks north; while he was walking uptown through the fray, he told me about the ash, the chaos, the fear, the smell, the panic 

... that Diana would have been on the 83rd floor at the time, but wasn't, thankfully; she had moved to the UK  

... hearing stories from Dion about the Brooks Brothers WTC store that was taken over by the FDNY and turned into a morgue, mainly for found remains; they spray painted "arms," "hands," "legs," etc. on the walls 

...  that my mom came up to San Francisco to spend time with me; it was a moment of childlike need for his mommy, to feel safe and protected, and a moment of reciprocal adult support to help each other through what just a day before was inconceivable

... the silence and solidarity of the candlelight vigil in Dolores Park with Tara, Scott and Bobby, and hundreds of other San Franciscans

... the quiet and empty skies for three days, no planes, no ‘copters … just air and clouds and quiet

... the sheer inundation of American flags everywhere, on everything; no window, building, jacket, backpack, bumper, telephone pole, wall, bus, store front, front lawn, or restaurant without an American Flag

... the sadness, the shock, the sense of not understanding how it could happen, the amazement over the careful and insidious planning that it took to pull of such a horrible event, the hatred that welled up and became cause for personal concern, and the realization that our lives as Americans would never, ever be the same

I remember …

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