On 9/11: we honor your loss today and every day

Still groggy and shuffling to the bathroom, I noticed 27 messages flashing on my answering machine. Who is blowing up my phone I wondered. I pushed play, rewinding the mini cassette. Caller after caller asked if I was OK and did I see it or can you believe this. I’d just woken up and had no idea what they were talking about. So I turned on the tv to NY1 hoping for answers. And I got them. Immediately.

I checked in with my mom who was relieved to hear my voice then hopped on my bike. I had to visit with Steph and Don. They lived downtown on West 8th street. The ride took about 20 minutes — on a normal day. But on this day, I rode slowly, letting my bike decide which path to take, paying extra attention to my surroundings.

I’d never seen my city in a state of crisis. Hoards of businesspeople hobbled to Grand Central or Penn Station, terrified and disheveled. Sirens blared endlessly. For the very first time I was struck by the absurdity of advertising images. In the past, I’d taken these images for granted. They were part of the city’s landscape. But on 9/11, they seemed grotesque. The sidewalks outside Port Authority were packed with travelers sitting helplessly on their suitcases. They knew they’d be stranded for a long while. The massive billboards above their heads featuring gorgeous, young people frolicking in underwear remain vividly and uncomfortably in my memory.

I’d made lots of friends in New York over the previous six years. But on this day, I needed Steph and Don. They were like family to me. We’d all lived in the same dorm during freshman year at UCONN. Steph lived down the hall and Don lived on the guy’s floor downstairs. I was a bridesmaid at their wedding. They were my oldest friends in the city and I needed them. I pedaled to their apartment with tears in my eyes.

The three of us roamed Greenwich Village aimlessly, dumbstruck by the day’s events. We stumbled upon Magnolia Bakery and joined the line that had formed outside. Steph and I were fanatical about our weight back then. (OK, we still are.) But in this surreal moment, lunching on cupcakes felt entirely appropriate. We enjoyed them with Don on a picnic table outside Bleecker Playground.

Bleecker Playground was jam packed that sunny September day. The children, God bless them, were having fun. But there was something unusual about this playground scene. It took a moment for me to realize: I’ve never seen so many fathers at a playground! I was used to seeing moms and nannies at kids’ playgrounds. But on 9/11, Bleecker Playground was packed with dads too. The memory still makes me smile when I pass by. And I pass by that playground all the time.

Whenever I get into a discussion about 9/11, it always revolves around lessons learned. As a society, we honor our lost heroes. We construct the appropriately grand memorials, we hold solemn ceremonies. But there’s even more to it. If you lost a loved one to 9/11, know that as a result, there are countless millions who’ve had their eyes opened and their hearts opened — forever. And with this, we honor your loss not just today, but every day.

Suzanne Saturday is the author of No Daddy’s Girl. For a preview, click here.

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