I remember the day with crystal clarity. I got up at the usual time and headed down to a nursing home to check on some folk. On my way back, I had the radio on in the car and there was a news interruption which said that the World Trade Center had been hit by a plane. I thought it was a small plane but then the news virtually went wild with a flood of details and speculation.
When I got home I turned on the tv and watched, all day, in absolute horror.
Around 3 that afternoon several of us clerics in town decided we needed to put together a vigil for that evening, so at 6 we all met.
The next weeks were, as you can imagine and probably remember, frazzled and depressing.
The strangest thing about the entire event, though, was that just a couple of months before my family and I had been in New York for a visit. We’d seen a show on Broadway, ridden the tour bus, had lunch in China Town, done all the usual touristy things in Central Park, and – most surreal-ly- had taken the elevator to the top of the World Trade Center.
I continue to think about being on top of the WTC. A lot actually. Probably too much.
In any event, until my mind is mush or my life is over, I don’t think I can, or will, forget that awful day. My hope is that all those directly affected have some sense of normalcy and my prayer is that the dead have found rest in peace, and peace in rest.