It’s nearly September. For many, September is a month of great change. The summer is ending, and while there may be a few days where the temperatures rise enough that the idea of summer, swimming and ice cream, is more appealing, autumn is settling in. The nights get progressively cooler, students have returned to school and are well into the first quarter of the semester, and everything is suddenly pumpkin flavored. I enjoy September for all those reasons, but I also dread it. September is a month of changes, and fifteen years ago my family, and our country, were permanently changed.
On September 11th 2001, my Uncle Kevin was killed. At the time, I was five years old and did not truly understand what was going on. I remember being scared because I had never seen my Daddy cry before. I remember going to the grocery store and seeing the footage of the towers collapsing on the news, and I remember my mom grabbing my hand and pulling me away, telling me not to watch. To this day, images of what happened on that day make me feel physically ill.
As I grew older, I began to have a more clear understanding of what had happened. We talked about 9/11 a lot in school, especially as the anniversary day drew closer. I also felt so disconnected from my peers during the month of September, because they were going through their days as if nothing at all had changed. Living in Ohio, none of my friends had lost anyone in the attack. They knew of it through the media, through announcements on the tv, and from their parents. Like all other children, they were both fascinated by the stories and completely indifferent. I could not be indifferent. We were always told to stand and silence for a few minutes on 9/11 out of respect for the people who had died. I recognize now that asking a group of seven-year-olds to stand silently for more than ten seconds is a monumental task, but when I was younger I was furious with my classmates. They would snicker and shuffle their feet and whisper, quite audibly, how stupid they thought this was, how it didn’t matter. I remember nearly crying a few times, wanting to scream at them that of course, it mattered. It always mattered. But they didn’t understand. They couldn’t, because they had not experienced what my family had experienced. They were seven and they were impatient, and they had experienced the events purely through their television screens. They had not lived them.
I have few memories of my Uncle Kevin that are strictly my own. They have the strange, filtered quality that early childhood memories do, where you aren’t 100% sure they actually happened or if you imagined them. My cousin, my twin sister, and I used to love playing tea party with our dads. We dressed my Dad and my Uncle Kevin up in tiaras and fancy boas and played for what felt like hours. I remember how Uncle Kevin and my Dad used to use silly voices when they served us tea. We were all princesses. Above all, I remember how happy we all were. When I think of Uncle Kevin that is what I picture: tea parties, warm hugs, and the belly-aching laughter.
I think a lot about my family during the month of September. Living in Ohio provides an interesting disconnect from the realities of what happened fifteen years ago. I do not live in New York, I do not see the Freedom Tower every day. I have to admit that there are weeks, months even, when 9/11 hardly crosses my mind. I am busy with school and work and seeing friends, and I simply do not pause to think. But then September rolls in, and like clockwork, I am thrown back into the reality of loss and change. I am reminded of what my family has endured; my grandmother, who lost a son, my cousins, who lost a father, my dad and my aunts and uncles, who lost a brother. For a long time, I felt that my grief in September was almost shameful, that I should not feel such a heightened sense of loss when I hardly remember the person we lost. Then, my freshman year of high school, I visited the memorial site.
It was the tenth anniversary of the attack that year, and my family was gathering to spend the day together. My dad was originally going to be the only one from my immediate family to attend, but I asked if I could go with him. For some reason, I felt that it was important for me to go. We traveled to the city very early in the morning. Several streets had been blocked off, and it was eerily quiet. We probably went through a security checkpoint, I really don’t remember, and then we found a place to stand and wait. There was a lot of press and attention this particular year because it was the tenth anniversary, and as a result, quite a large crowd had gathered. It was a completely surreal and transformative day, but one moment stands out clearly in my mind.
I don’t know if I had been separated from my family, or if I had simply wandered a little into the crowd, but I collided with a woman I didn’t recognize. I had been crying and could not see particularly clearly, and immediately began to apologize because I had caused this woman to drop a carefully framed picture of a young man I assume was her son. She picked up the picture, and said, “Honey, don’t worry. We’re all family today.” Before I could think of anything to say, she pulled me into an embrace. That day I realized the transformative power of loss. I realized that maybe all these years I was not grieving for the person I had lost, but for the fact that I would never truly know him. I realized how shared experience could bring people together. I realized how genuinely kind, brave, and good people can be. I will forever be grateful that I went to New York with my family that year.
September is a month of change. This September is no exception. Because this year is the 15 year anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, I predict that there will be a great deal of media coverage, and that tensions will be running high. This September, I suggest that the changes we experience this year will be positive. We need more love in the world. We need more acceptance. We need to respect our diverse religions and the freedom that everyone in our country deserves to express their identities.
This September, make the change in your life one of love.
This September, we need to be a people united by love and not by hate. Make positive change. Love even when it is difficult. Love, love, love.
I know that is what my Uncle Kevin would want.
