Remembering 9/11

I'm sure everyone remembers where they were when the horrific news starting pouring out of New York. I was just waking up, preparing for the second day of my Junior year at college when the first tower was hit. I relayed everything via IM to a friend of mine who had no TV in her dorm until I left for class. Driving to school in northern New Jersey, I could see smoke billowing into the sky.

Every TV in the Brothers College building was on, and every class had been let go--except mine. (The professor felt an attempt at normalcy was mandatory to prevent hysteria, although whether he was right is still up for debate.) We all assembled in the gymnasium at noon to hear our university president give a speech, not knowing he would later head the 9/11 Commission. Those with friends and family in or near the Towers waited by a large TV that had been set up as they frantically tried to send a phone call through the soot- and ash-clogged New York air. All of a sudden, the largely apathetic student body actually cared about something. At that time, no one knew who Osama bin Laden was or why he wanted to destroy America, but I think by that afternoon we all knew America would never be the same again.

In the end, I suppose it doesn't matter where we were or what we felt when it happened. What matters is what we've done about it in the years that followed. Some decisions have been life-affirming, some disastrous, but through it all we mustn't let the slogan we've all come to know become a mere platitude: Never Forget. Those who lost their lives--whether in the Towers, the Pentagon, on the planes, or from health issues as a result of breathing the toxic air--deserve to be remembered not just as victims of a heinous crime, but as human beings who loved and lived.

Shortly after September 11th I attended an informal concert at the Nyack Seaport. It was one in a series of such intimate performances my family had subscribed to, and the first one to take place after the tragedy (the previous two had been canceled because no one felt like singing.) Our small group gathered as usual, but a number of chairs remained conspicuously empty; many subscribers were businessmen who often completed transactions in the financial district. A large picture window lined one side of the tiny room, giving all assembled a perfect view of the Hudson River and the wounded skyline beyond. In the midst of this surrealistic, numbing horror, one of the performers chose a song from "The Fantasticks" that reaches through the years to capture the moment perfectly, even now:

Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When grass was green and grain was yellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When you were a tender and callow fellow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.

Try to remember when life was so tender
That no one wept except the willow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That dreams were kept beside your pillow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That love was an ember about to billow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.

Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Although you know the snow will follow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Without a hurt the heart is hollow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
The fire of September that made us mellow.
Deep in December, our hearts should remember
And follow.