story3626.xml

story3626.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-09-11

A letter I wrote shortly after the attacks to my future grandchildren:

September 17, 2001

Dear Ones:

How can you speak of the unspeakable horror? On one hand, I feel talking about it trivializes it, but on the other, voicing these horrors, telling the story, makes the unimaginable, real.

Your granddan and I were in New York City when, in an attack on America, the World Trade Center, two over 100 story buildings, and thousands of lives were destroyed by terrorists. We were witnesses of the outrage.

We realize that the people that commit these acts delight in causing evil. They need no justification in their small minds for their despicable actions other than hate. Already people are debating about getting involved in a war against these cells of terror thinking they had reasons or causes for such hatred.

If we do not commence war against these evil people now, when do we do it? Do we let these terrorists commit some more atrocious acts? War is not pretty, but, at least, there is justification for it?there is no justification for terrorist acts. Yes, there will be sacrifices and unintentional killing of innocent people....that's the nature of the beast. But please see the difference. Freedom loving people are not intentionally, with no thought and blind hatred, killing people for just the sake of killing. Our acts will demonstrate character and courage, not evil and cowardice.

When Granddan and I drove out of New York City after being stranded for a few days, I felt guilty leaving that great city that had shown so much poise, calm in the midst of such chaos. I could not understand having a choice to leave and return to our, relatively in these times, safe haven of home. The drizzle as we left matched our moods....despair. It was as if the city was weeping. As we drove across the Verrazano Bridge and crossed out of New York State, "God Bless America" was playing on the radio from the National Memorial Service for the victims in Washington D.C. I reflected and wished to remember our arrival flying in on a sunny day, September 7th, seeming years ago, with the marvelous skyline of the city jutting up majestically.

I wanted to remember our evening before the attack sitting under the bleachers of Yankee Stadium during a rain delay and breaking bread, or in reality peanuts, with a couple of new found friends from Brooklyn. Our friends told us how much Texans and New Yorkers were alike in their boldness, brashness, and independence....yet each state loving being Americans and part of this great United States. Overly exuberant, talking with his hands, our Brooklyn friend told us we were the "salt of the earth" for donating Yankee season tickets to a church in the Bronx. And in jest, calling upon the other "bleacher creatures" to give us a hand....on that dreary evening before the present world ended. Now that giving seems so little.

I want to remember dashing back in the drizzle to our hotel in Manhattan after the game was postponed, after the hours long delay, and stopping to gaze at the Twin Towers. My eating crow, remarking, "yes I can see them from here" after I argued with granddan that we couldn't. The next morning, unbelievably, all we saw was smoke from that site.

I want to remember these moments....the strength of the city, Central Park in the days after the attack with its carousel continuing to play, a boy playing baseball with his mom, and the pride I felt when U.S. fighter jets began flying cover over the city. I wanted to stand and cheer with fist pumping, "Go U.S.A!"

Our friend from the Bronx wrote me after I told her that I was so saddened to leave. She said we had to go...our family was in Texas. But to remember that we always had family in New York and that she knew that deep in our Texas hearts we were New Yorkers. How ironic! She was comforting us knowing what sadness and trials lay ahead for her city.

I do feel a kinship with New York, the victims, and all Americans. Driving back across the country, we took in her beauty and strength-- the Appalachians, the Shenadoah Valley, the great Mississippi River, and all the patriotic fervor gripping the land demonstrated by the omnipresent flying flags.

There is definitely a kinship. I know when those great buildings collapsed and vaporized with all those people, it was like a communion of souls taken into my very being. The smoky air was filled with all the victims' spirits...heroes, moms, dads, sons, daughters....regular everyday people. Or more appropriately honored, as ordinary people leading heroic lives. I now feel them in my very heart and soul.

Love to All of You,
Grandmother