There is a memorial up with images from that day and after. Pictures of people and rubble. The names of every last person who didn't make it out of the buildings. Reminders of what happened. The wall of smoke and rubble that flooded the street when the buildings collapsed. People looking confused and helpless. People running. I can't even imagine. There were once two huge buildings there. I saw them so often. Whenever I went to the city they were there. When you left New York they were the last thing you saw, and the first thing you saw when you came back. Two big pillars, greeting you. Letting you know you were home.
Now they're gone, and there's a hole in the ground. Almost 3,000 people died that day. I can't even imagine. Being in there and having your entire world literally crumble around you. Being in one of the planes, knowing you were going to die. It breaks my heart. I know there is death and destruction in the world every day. I know people that don't deserve it die every day. Disease, war, disasters, the list goes on. Those are all tragedy, no doubt, but they never hit so close to home, and never so suddenly. They, very sadly, are facts of life. Huge buildings falling, buildings you think will always be there, is not something you prepare for. Not something you think is going to happen. It's harder to comprehend.
There are two beacons of light there now. Representative of the towers, like ghosts. Apparitions of what once was. They are sobering and beautiful and very sad. You see them and you remember, and it still has the impact it had five years ago. The sadness and anger and feelings of emptiness. The hope and pride when so many people helped with search and rescue. With cleanup. With moving on. In the end I think we're going to be okay.
I'm glad I finally saw it.