It’s sometimes interesting to me that I make part of my living as a writer. There are those folks who call me a “wordsmith” and are impressed by my ability to string together a line of words that cause some kind of response. Every year as Sept. 11, 2001, comes around I realize just how limited my writing skills are. I find myself listening to songs written and sung about the attacks our nation suffered on that date and the songs bring tears to my eyes. Okay, it’s the songs combined with my memories, but still …
Have you forgotten? I make every effort not to. The memories are hard, especially for so many of us who had friends who died that day. We make time to honor and commemorate the heroes that fell: the firefighters, police officers and so many more in New York City. We honor and commemorate those who responded to the attack at the Pentagon: firefighters, police officers, soldiers, Marines, Airmen, Sailors and more. We honor and commemorate the very first Americans who responded to the attacks: The brave men and women on Flight 93 that crashed into a Pennsylvania field rather than hitting its intended target.
Even as I sit and type this, I have a hard time not letting tears stream down my cheeks. The lyrics from songs make my heart swell with sorrow. Where were you when the world stopped turning that September day? I wasn’t in a uniform. I wasn’t in a patrol car. I wasn’t on duty at a firehouse waiting for the tones to drop. I wasn’t on a boat in the harbor patrolling around Long Island. But I tip my hat to everyone who was and who accepted the risk to go and try to save total strangers from the evil of a terror attack. I bow my head and say a silent prayer for those who never got to go home after running toward that risk; those who made the ultimate sacrifice serving their fellow citizens.
I’ve spent a lot of years wearing or carrying a badge. Many a day I went to work in a uniform, kissing my wife goodbye, knowing full well it might be the last time. Thankfully, for me, that day never came, and I can’t even imagine what it was like for those who lost a loved one that day. I spent 11 years as a volunteer fireman in my teen years and into my twenties. There came a time when I realized that fire is a force of nature and one day it always wins. I could defeat a crackhead; but fire? No, nature is bigger than me. I saw that weakness in my own resolve and (wisely) withdrew from the fire service, volunteer or otherwise. As much as police officers and firefighters give each other grief, we tend to recognize the strengths of each other. Most of the firefighters I know shake their head at the thought of fighting a violent criminal but they almost gleefully run into a burning building. To each their own.
Sept. 11, 2001, remains the single deadliest day in American history for public safety. In response to those attacks, we lost far too many firefighters, paramedics, EMTs, police officers, security officers, deputies and more. We should never let a year pass wherein we don’t stop to think about them; remember them; honor them and strive to be worthy of the dedication they showed that day.
Perhaps more importantly, we should remember that it wasn’t just that day. Every one of those who made the sacrifice that day went to work every day before that just as ready; just as willing; just as committed. Their spouses, children and families all said goodbye, all too aware of the fact that it might be their last goodbye. Yet, they still went to work, and the families still watched them go. That takes a special kind of dedication, bravery and support.
Never forget that. Never dishonor what they sacrificed with apathy. “Lest we forget…” shouldn’t have to be said or written.
