Not Forgetting to Remember

So this happened last night. I found myself at a monthly meeting of a group for which I hold a place on their board. There were 16 of us in attendance last night. It's just once per month and I do care about the organization or else I wouldn't be there in the first place. However, it's one of those things you dread, you can make excuses why not to go, you watch the clock and think, at times, this is never going to end. It's mostly women, and women have a way of talking too much. It's just a gender flaw, I believe.

So, I'm in this meeting last night, anxiously watching the clock and taking some assurance and relief in that it seems to be winding down. The speaker wraps up, thanks everyone for coming and people start getting up to a symphony of jingling keys and chairs being pushed back across a linoleum floor. The exit is in clear site and I'm already in the car in my mind. Then the leader of the group asks everyone to stop and gather in a circle before we leave. "Nooooo! I was so close," I thought.

We assembled fairly quickly, then she said with a full heart and cracking voice, "I thought maybe we could all just take a moment to remember this day and maybe we can all go around and share what this day means to us." Lord, help me.

She kicked it off. She was not in NYC that day, 13 years ago, she didn't know anyone directly or indirectly affected by the tragedy. She just felt like she wanted to commemorate the day so she prattled on about how she'd visited New York some 30 years ago and managed to bring that nearly unrelated story back around to her current day angst and anxiety.

9/11 Memorial

As the rest of those of us gathered shared our stories, my heart softened and I listened, truly listened, to what people were saying. One woman was working and living in Manhattan that day. She was blocks away and wondered if she was next. Another had a relative who was a flight attendant and they were not able to verify this person's whereabouts or safety for more than a day. A younger member shared how she was in high school and provided a glimpse into what our youth experienced and felt. An older member equated it to Pearl Harbor, though she wasn't around for that first attack on U.S. soil. Unfortunately, one woman over-shared and told how she and her husband did the only thing they knew to do and, yadda yadda, "our third child was born nine months later." Several people made the comment that this is our (this generation's) version of "where were you when JFK was assassinated?" I even shared my own story, which isn't great or particularly touching, but goes like this:

I went to work that day. Just like it was a normal day. And when I went home at the end of the day, I stopped and did something fairly pedestrian and normal. I got gas. The closest station to my home still provided the option of "full service." For all of you young people, gas stations used to only be "full service." You'd pull up and an attendant would pump your gas, check your oil, wash your windows and maybe even check your tire pressure. Then, stations started offering the option for you to skip this service and do it yourself. Thus, you had the option of "full service" or "self service." Full service eventually faded into a memory, but this particular station held onto it. A little too tightly, if you ask me. I've never been much of a women's libber, but for whatever reason I took offense when they would see me and dash out, trying to wrestle the gas pump from me. I'd wave them off and deliver a quick, curt "I've got it...thank you!" to try to head them off. But on 9/11/01, I stopped to get gas. I got out and began unscrewing my gas cap. An employee started walking out of the building towards me. As he arrived, I mumbled, "I'm fine" and, as he took the pump from my hand and proceeded to fill my car, we both just stood there. The sky was a beautiful, bright blue, hardly a cloud to be seen. And it was silent. I've never given much mind to airplanes flying overhead, but I'll always remember the stillness of that day. He finished, I thanked him, and he said, "no problem...it beats standing in there staring at the TV." And we hugged. Total, complete strangers. It was our way of saying "we're gonna be OK" days before people started shouting"U.S.A! U.S.A!" and a good while before we were remotely sure.