I didn't get that close, but I did try to go down and help. I still remember some of the things going through my head. I remember the numbness, I remember the anger, I remember the frustration. It really upset me when we were turned away, I walked all over the city trying to find a way to get down and help, I camped out for a day at the javits center hoping I'd be one of the people brought down, and was turned away with all of the rest as the feds came in and announced no more local volunteers would be taken. I was furious, I ranted about that for a while. It was my city, they were my people.
Now, though, a lot of that has faded. I feel sad when thinking of it, feel a few leftover rumblings of frustration or pain or anger, but most of it's gone. It hurt, watching that show, but not like it had back then.
It's weird. I guess it's that whole resilient human spirit thing going on, but it's hard to believe how far away it feels. It's only been 6 months, but it feels like so much more. I guess life goes on, as they say, but it still seems strange.
I think I'll say a prayer for the departed tonight.
I know some say that, hey, people die every day from things, like car crashes or murders or starvation or abuse or whatever, and they're right, but it doesn't make these deaths any less real, or less important. Not only that, but they were deaths that affected me, and my life. No, I don't say a prayer for everyone who dies, but these people meant something to me, in a way, and the event did as well. No, I don't think everyone should, and I don't think they deserve any more than any of the other people who die horrible, senseless deaths, but it doesn't mean they deserve any less either.