By B.L. Ochman
It’s 9/11 again. Dammit.
I wanted to write this year that it all seems so long ago and far away. But that’s a lie. The truth is 9/11 is never going away.
As a witness to the devastation, the death, and, perhaps worst of all, the jumpers, the sights and sounds have never really left.
Yes, the memories are farther from the surface now, less of a raw wound. More like a faded scar. Never completely erased.
Certain sounds and vibrations bring back sensations of the day. Sometimes, even though the nearest airport is many miles away, the wind carries sound a certain way. When that happens, I hear the roar of airplanes from LaGuardia, sounding like the rumblings of the buildings going down. The people with me usually can’t hear it.
I seem to glance up and notice the clock arriving at twice 9:11 every day. Almost like it calls out the moment. It gives me a start every time. And I still wish every bright blue sky would have a cloud because the achingly beautiful blue sky was completely cloudless on 9/11.
But all of that is trivial next to the people who lost family, friends and loved ones. I pray for peace for them. And I wish for healing for those still suffering the various levels of pain and illnesses the day wrought.
I’m a survivor. I know very well that I’m one of the lucky ones.