story20860.xml
Title
story20860.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2006-09-12
911DA Story: Story
The years pass, but time does not lessen what we have lost. Yesterday marked the fifth anniversary of the attacks, and like many who survived I have moved on and at the same time, I haven't. The building I escaped from shakes inside me forever. I now have two children: my son Jack was born last year and my daughter Kate will turn 4 this fall. I've bought a house on Staten Island and I still work for the Port Authority of NY & NJ.
September 11th is no longer a day for me - it is a season. Starting in late August, when the morning sunshine starts to slant at a certain angle and you can feel the first hints of autumn in the air, I sense it creeping up on me; like a cold that you can feel coming, but try to ignore. Then the day itself arrives and what is there to say? I go to work to avoid the reading of the names, some familiar, some not, all of them precious to someone. I got up early yesterday and watched my children sleep. Little shallow breaths in the peaceful pre-dawn darkness. I stood there and thought of all the fathers who surely must've done the same thing and now never will again. All children are gifts, but I hold mine a little tighter because I came so close to never holding them at all.
September 11th branded me and the scar runs the length of my life. But it does not own me. Each day that I awake, rise and go through my life; every time that I come home to my family; every act, every breath that I take is a rebuke to evil that occurred that day.
I am wounded, but I am not dead. I have good days and bad, but on the especially bad days (like yesterday), I hold fast to the beautiful things of this earth and say to those who sought to take my life and would seek it still: these you cannot have; these sunsets, these soft breezes, this laughter, this music, these children, this wife, this love. Though I pass from this life tomorrow, these will be mine forever.
September 11th is no longer a day for me - it is a season. Starting in late August, when the morning sunshine starts to slant at a certain angle and you can feel the first hints of autumn in the air, I sense it creeping up on me; like a cold that you can feel coming, but try to ignore. Then the day itself arrives and what is there to say? I go to work to avoid the reading of the names, some familiar, some not, all of them precious to someone. I got up early yesterday and watched my children sleep. Little shallow breaths in the peaceful pre-dawn darkness. I stood there and thought of all the fathers who surely must've done the same thing and now never will again. All children are gifts, but I hold mine a little tighter because I came so close to never holding them at all.
September 11th branded me and the scar runs the length of my life. But it does not own me. Each day that I awake, rise and go through my life; every time that I come home to my family; every act, every breath that I take is a rebuke to evil that occurred that day.
I am wounded, but I am not dead. I have good days and bad, but on the especially bad days (like yesterday), I hold fast to the beautiful things of this earth and say to those who sought to take my life and would seek it still: these you cannot have; these sunsets, these soft breezes, this laughter, this music, these children, this wife, this love. Though I pass from this life tomorrow, these will be mine forever.
Collection
Citation
“story20860.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed January 10, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/4212.