Another year has past and 9-11 comes to my mind. The years have not dimmed my
memories.
These past years seems to have flown past. I still find it hard to believe.
I think many people do.
I still cannot understand why people commit such evil upon each other. I think
I never will.I have many memories of that day.
I remember staring in disbelief at the tv screen. I remember standing on my
front lawn and clearly seeing the smoke from the fires.
I remember all my friends online trying to contact me to be sure I was still
alive.
I remember the large funerals at the cemetery not 3 miles from where I sit and
write this now. There were a lot of funerals that fall,
many with an empty casket.
But of all the things that day - the one that still makes me cry was a simple,
one line email I received that day. "Are you still alive?"
I visited the 9-11 memorial recently and was very taken by how well it looks.
It honors the dead well.
In memory of all those who went out and will never be coming back. You live on
in our memories
Christian Okane
**************
12 September 2001
That terrible silence
---------------------------
It's a simple structure that stands across the street from my apartment. Two
stories tall and made of deep, red brick and gray stone.
Two wide roll up garage doors stood below a sign that proudly read "RESCUE 1".
Two engines had called that place home, polished and cleaned by proud firemen.
I can still picture their faces now, smiling, laughing, talking,
cleaning or repairing something. I even watched with amusement as a television
crew filmed this company of New York's bravest.
These firemen were famous, they always seemed to be rescuing people from
crumbling buildings, collapsed scaffolding or swimming into
a sunken boat to rescue a trapped crewman. They were called the bravest of the
brave.
I had long ago lost my amazement at what they did. All I knew was that I always
seemed to be jolted awake at the most foul hours
by screaming horns and wailing sirens as red and blue lights danced across my
ceiling. Driving away all hopes of sleep. Now that
it's gone I miss it so.
Now I stand at my window looking at the people who lay flowers and wreaths
where the engines once rested.
Where I had stood countless times talking and chatting with the firemen. Brave
souls who had gone out and will never come back.
Sometimes even now I wake up in the middle of the night hoping, praying to
hear the wail of sirens and the scream of the horns.
Instead all I hear is that silence.
That terrible silence.
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