The ninth anniversary, September 11, 2010
I woke early this morning but only left the house after hearing the last name read. It was a sad day that was made more difficult by the fact that the anniversary fell on a Saturday and I would not be among my [PortAuthority] colleagues. For nine years we’ve developed our routines on these solemn anniversaries — like a members’-only club. Having it fall on a weekend was a disruption to that routine and made me feel disconnected and anxious. It’s a common feeling among my colleagues that we selfishly think only belongs to us.
By late morning, I found my way to the pond by the Municipal Center where a memorial honors the eight East Brunswick residents killed on 911. As I approached the entrance to the small garden, I saw a man who came to pay his respects. He stood facing the small granite replica of the twin towers. Three candles were burning and a few flowers were strewn at its base. We stood there for several minutes a few feet from one another, both of us lost in our thoughts. I watched as he wiped away tear after tear until he finally turned to me, reached out and embraced me. As he stood sobbing into my shoulder, I returned the tears.
More than a few minutes had passed before he was finally able to speak. He told me his story of how he was working in downtown Manhattan on that fateful day. From his office overlooking the towers, he saw the planes fly into the towers and watched the ensuing chaos unfold outside his window. Despite this scene, he proceeded to place a sales call and continued his day like any other. He realizes how unimportant that was, and nine years later that’s all he can bring back from that day. He pointed to one of the eight names inscribed on the memorial. It was a member of his synagogue. “I didn’t know him,” he said. “In fact, I didn’t know anyone that died,” yet to this day, he is still overcome by tremendous guilt and a profound sense of loss.
I shared with him my stories, of what I did in the days following 9/11, working 12-hour shifts in the Port Authority’s Office of Emergency Management office on the night shift while attending over a dozen of the endless funerals for my 84 Port Authority colleagues during the day.
I told him about my friend Bernie, a Cantor Fitzgerald employee from the old neighborhood. We both lived next door to each other as newlyweds and began our families together. My husband and I took my oldest son, Alex, to Bernie’s funeral. Although he was not quite 11 at the time, I thought it important for Alex to have a personal connection to that day. Lastly, I too pointed to one of the eight names inscribed on the memorial. He was my neighbor a few houses down from mine. We had moved to the neighborhood only a few months prior to 9/11 and our children knew one another. He and I never met but I went to his funeral. That’s what neighbors do.
As we both fell silent, the man introduced himself as David and said that he was compelled to come to the memorial this morning as he was searching for a connection to this day. Little did he know that I needed that, as well. He seemed at peace when we finally parted. He thanked me for listening, we shared a final hug and he quickly returned to his car. As I watched David walk away, I was thinking that perhaps our chance meeting was arranged by God to help him find a sense of peace, forgiveness and to begin healing. Then I realized that He sent David to me — to help me find meaning and purpose in this trying day, despite not having the comfort of my colleagues around me. I know now that it was likely both .
May you find peace, David. May we all find peace.
Olga Krueger Milltown