There were many reflections about the 2001 terrorist attack on America
leading up to the 15th anniversary just a few weeks ago. Following
is my reflection on the memorial service at the World Trade Center on October
28, 2001. I attended the service with a group of mental health workers who
offered their support for the bereaved.
As I recall, at the end of the service there was a chill in the air as
the sun disappeared behind the ruins of the World Trade Center. Renee Fleming,
accompanied by the Orchestra of St. Luke’s, sang God Bless America.
Moments earlier I said goodbye to the family I stood beside during the
memorial service. They sat in the back row of our section, one of scores of
sections filled with thousands of folding chairs, each chair occupied by a
grieving family member. I stood with my back against an iron gate so I would
not block anyone’s view. The family had lost its father and husband, a
decorated firefighter. The widow was a slight woman of Italian descent,
probably in her late sixties.
Photos of her husband were pinned to her wool coat, and to the coats of
her three children. He was handsome. He had a white moustache and a full head
of silvery hair, combed straight back. When the memorial service started an
hour earlier one of her sons, an off-duty police officer, asked if I would make
sure that no one obstructed his mother’s view. He said, “You can see how short
she is.”
The service began with a processional that included His Eminence Edward
Cardinal Egan, Archbishop of New York. Then, police officer Daniel Rodriguez of
the NYPD sang The Star Spangled Banner. He had become a national presence by
appearing in his dress blues and singing the national anthem at Yankee Stadium
before the 97th World Series that pitted the Yankees against the
Arizona Diamondbacks.
Everyone was on his or her feet. A massive wall of mourners rose around
the tiny figure to my right. When I saw her struggling to climb, I took her arm
and helped her up onto a folding chair. I told her that she could grab on to
me. “Hold on to my shoulders,” I said. She hesitated. I told her, “Don’t worry
you won’t knock me over.”
I could feel her trembling as she removed her right hand from my
shoulder and fumbled for a tissue inside her coat pocket. I reached into my
pocket and handed her a handkerchief.
When I was picking out my clothes earlier in the morning I had come
across several unopened packets of white handkerchiefs. They belonged to my
father who died seven years earlier. As I got dressed, I thought that today my
father would want somebody who needed it to have one of his handkerchiefs. At
first she refused my offer, not wanting to impose. I urged her, “Please, take
it. It’s okay.”
Fifteen years later, my father’s handkerchiefs remain tucked into my
dresser drawer - a daily reminder of when I joined a parade of broken hearts.
Sometimes I close my eyes, think back and try to recall what things felt like
before that sunny fall morning at ground zero.
Andrew Malekoff is the
Executive Director of North Shore Child & Family Guidance Center, which
provides comprehensive mental health services for children from birth through
24 and their families. To find out more, visit www.northshorechildguidance.org.
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