Tuesday, September 11, 2012


I'd gone to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee when Dave called me back to the television, back to the morning news. We watched in horror. Later that day I went to work at the airport--at the time I worked for a United Airlines carrier. All flights were cancelled. We had endless meetings. New security directives. Periodically, I cried.

The week continued, but we would never be the same.

People trickled into the airport, and some told stories of survival: a passenger who'd been scheduled for a meeting at the towers, but he'd called in sick, someone who had missed his plane...

My family lives in New York. My parents' young neighbor vanished in the towers--leaving a young wife and two-week-old daughter. My friend, Roy, lives in downtown Manhattan, and he told me the smell lingered for weeks, and you knew you were breathing in the dead. My stepmother bought rolls of plastic and tape to cover the basement window, stocked up on water, made plans for creating a shelter from future attacks.

My job at the airport changed radically. 

I remember September 11th every day.

My heart goes out to all the participants of that horrendous destruction--the victims and the perpetrators. For how can someone commit such a act horrendous without intense suffering? My heart goes out to all of us, because--even if we don't realize it--every one of us still feels the ripples of that act.

May all beings be free from suffering.

Peace. Peace. Peace. 

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