of course, by now, it has been all cleaned up. now it simply looks like a huge construction site, with bull dozers and chain linked fences and dump trucks and concrete and pilons and half-build foundations.
but it feels like something different.
it feels like a wound.
i took a taxi from my soho hotel. i could have walked, but the weather report had been threatening a deluge since the previous night, so i didn't want to take a chance.
the taxi took me to about a block away. there was a huge traffic jam, so we sat for several minutes in front of the large edifice with the words "world trade center" looming large over the street, with nothing but empty space behind it.
"oh my christ" i involuntarily muttered.
"that's it up there," said my cab driver.
"it's so sad," i said, just feeling the weight of that fateful day descend on my soul, sitting there in the backseat of my cab. "were you here that day?" i asked.
"yeah," he replied. "lose anyone?" i asked.
"no," he returned. not angry. not sad. not relieved. not scared. just...the truth.
"thank god for that," i said. my wife and i were also lucky that day. tho her cousin worked for the nypd at 1 center street, he managed to stay out of the debris and confusion. and my aunt, who lives in colorado, coincidentally was visiting relatives in pennsylvania not 7 miles from where united 93 fell to the earth. but we didn't lose anyone.
but we know people who did.
"look, i'll just get out here and walk," i said, thrusting a bill into his hand (he made about a 300% tip that day). i got out and walked the busy block up to the spot.
on the day i visited, it was slightly rainy, with scattered showers falling on the crowds of people. and, tho nyc is still a bustling metropolis with throngs of people crowding each other everywhere you do, there was a stillness in the air as i approached.
i cried. i couldn't hold back the tears.
there was a display of art created by children who lost family in 9/11.
one little girl simply wrote "i remember my daddy taking me on a picnic."
i had to lean against a pillar, broke down in tears.
then i went across the street to st. paul's chapel, the oldest extant continuously operating public building in manhattan (george washington was inaugurated there).
it was "ground zero," if you will, for where the rescue workers, police and fire personnel, would stop for a rest, some soup, a back rub, some solace, some support.
i didn't cry there, but i was terribly moved. as i walked thru the chapel, a bell rang and the minister announced it was time for the daily service in remembrance of the people who lost their lives on 9/11, and the people who worked to rescue and clean up afterwards.
i stayed for a bit, but emotion overwhelmed me again, and, after leaving a sizable offering in the collection box, i stumbled out into the rain.
yes, it was painful. but it was also inspiring. to know that america was able to move onward after a rabbit punch to the gut like that, after a critical wound so unexpected...to know that we can stand back up and continue on, with the spirit of those we lost in our hearts...it inspired me also to go on.
it inspired me to work harder for my country, to be more ready to fight for what i believe is right, to be more willing to sacrifice of my time and my sweat and my energy to make america and this world a better place.
because that's what this country is about. going on after tragedy, stronger and more determined than ever.
so that little girl who remembers her picnic with her daddy can grow up in a country of liberty and justice.
for all.