911 Part 1 of 3

Do you remember where you were on 9/11? What you were doing?

The-Youngest and The-Oldest hadn’t been born, so all they knew about it was what they’d read or been taught in school. I was at home, working out on a rowing machine, watching CNN. When the news broke, it was ‘a small plane hit one of the twin towers.” Then… then… something unthinkable.

I watched the 2^nd plane hit the other tower. I stopped rowing. I watched as another plane apparently crashed into the pentagon, then another into a field. I watched people on fire leap into the air and fall like flaming rags. I watched dust and ash cover the faces of New Yorkers as they fled.

But not all of them fled, did they?

The heroes didn’t.

In the morning, we joined our cousins to see the memorial to honor all those who died – and to honor those who gave their lives to save others.

Both cousins, despite being lifelong New Yorkers, hadn’t been to the 9/11 Memorial. For my oldest cousin, she had worked blocks away when the buildings came down, her mom was close too, though not in the buildings. For both of my cousins, that day was filled with such powerful emotion, grief, and loss.

And fear that, on that day, her mom had been caught in the collapse of the towers.

To return to that spot, to bring back the memories of that terrible day, wasn’t something that would be easy for them.

Or us.

To do this properly, our cousins had booked a tour. Going on the subway was a whole different experience with them. They knew the cheats. They knew the bad cars. They knew the shady people to avoid. And, they knew a neat story about every stop.

Navigating the streets was also a treat. It was like having our own personal tour guides.

See, we wanted this when they asked us what we wanted to do with them. Show us your New York, we said. Our oldest cousin did that with our long walk on the first day. Our youngest cousin showed us the fun of Broadway.

And once they found out we hadn’t eaten at a Bodega, well now, we had to try one.

I have to say I was a little surprised. A Bodega for me was a place in Law and Order where someone shot someone else in between the aisles stacked with shelves overstuffed with twinkies and beer.

But no, this one had a high-end, coffee shop, lots of sandwiches, and in the back, a freaking buffet.

The-Youngest nearly fainted in happiness. A buffet? He could load up on anything? Even take 9 plates? Even get a beer? (ah, no to the last one.)

The food was fantastic. Not like 5 star fantastic but hot, tasty, and pretty cheap.

What a treat.

After eating, we lined up for the tour in front of a church. There weren’t a ton of people so that was great. I hate being part of a human centipede that follows someone with an umbrella around like we’re all attached by invisible chains.

The tour guide was young, handsome, and full of enthusiasm. We began the tour at St. Paul’s Chapel, which somehow stood when the towers fell just a hundred yards away. The 250-year-old chapel became a haven for all the rescue and recovery workers, some of whom would just collapse with exhaustion when they entered it. How it stood while other buildings fell is seen as a sign from God.

The chapel has marked that day since 2002 by ringing the Bell of Hope outside, near the small cemetery.

It was a beautiful and contemplative sight. This small chapel, surrounded by towering skyscrapers, had survived. Even the sun disappeared hid behind a blanket of clouds. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World teared up, while both my cousins dabbed at their eyes.

Being me, I took pictures of everything but when I started to record the guide’s description of what happened, he got angry and said, “Dude, are you going to film everything I say?”

Being Canadian, I said, “Ah, no, sorry,” but jeez, even if I had planned that, so what?

I stopped filming him, but didn’t stop filming or taking pictures of the sights.

To get to the actual memorial, we walked through the World Trade Center Station, which is inside the Oculus. I don’t know why it has that name, but it is a sight for the eyes. We entered through white, flowing archways into a vast ribbed mall—also white. It had cost $4 billion to build, but because they built it in New York, despite the money spent, the roof leaked like mad, so they sealed it up with duct tape.

Duct tape!

Ha.

It was designed by a famous Spanish architect named Santiago Calatrava who certainly created something beautiful. I wonder, sometimes, that in the long run, does anyone care how much it cost or is the creation of art the only thing people remember?

We had no time to see any of the shops or stalls, though. We were on a mission, and following our guide, we were about to enter ground zero.

The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World had already cried at the cemetery. I wondered if any of us would get through the next part without sobbing. It felt like a weight on my chest. It felt like I was about to go to a funeral for someone I loved.