September 11, 2002

On the first anniversary of 9/11 I stood in the pit with the other mourners.  The names were read.  A wind swirled down into the pit as the first name was spoken.  We were enveloped in a cloud of dust and ash.  I embraced strangers, cried tears, and collected stone and dust from the site.  One jar went to a coworker of mine who lost her cousin, FDNY.  Dreams up in smoke.  A father turned a concrete slab into a gravestone for his son.  Noelle's marker became a shrine for all of us there, to lay a garland, or place a stone for the fallen.  Senator Clinton was there, just as she was hours after the buildings collapsed.  Any New Yorker who doubted the sincerity of her service to the State of New York gave it up.

We left before Bush arrived, not wanting to be part of his photo-op.  On the way home Noelle's father was interviewed on the radio.  He only wanted a grave for his son.  He made one and shared it with all of us.

After the 8 hour drive home I got in the shower and washed Ground Zero from my hair.  I won't go back until the new construction is completed.  The site is still undone, a fitting metaphor for everything this nation has become in the wake of that day seven years ago.  Our men and women have served with honor, and I thank each of them, and their families for their service, and sacrifice.  I loathe the men who sent them, gave them nothing, and took everything from them.  The work is undone.  Ground Zero is undone.  America is undone.  We need a healing.  It will not come from a President or a politician.  It will come from us, the source from whom the power of the republic is derived: THE PEOPLE.