I spent the day numb, sitting on IRC, listening to the overloaded phones not ring, to the clients not coming in. Watching the little tv my boss brought in, picking up only a snowy Channel Two. For a long time, NYC had no other broadcast channel - except UPN from New Jersey. Two came from the Empire State Building, now again the tallest building in NYC. And that thought still chills me.
I found a prayerbook and started reading random psalms because there was nothing else I could do, so I did that. And I didn't cry because I didn't cry, because it was too big, too miuch like a disaster movie or a comic book. Only when I heard about the individuals, the *heroes* who died anyway. Then I cried. And I heard about the Pentagon, but it was too far away and about the plane in Pennsylvania and there were more heroes.
And Laura called my mother in New Jersey, who knew I was fine, but still. And someone came in saying we should all give blood, except that as it turned out, there was enough because either they survived whole or they died. And I remembered the day eight years earlier and how *proud* I'd been - that these two huge buildings had been evacuated quickly and orderly, with people standing aside for pregnant women or helping those who needed it.
And I remember a couple days later, seeing the plume of smoke over my neighborhood rising from that hole in the sky and realizing it was full of souls. And I remember how packed my synagogue was a week later on Rosh HaShanah, and how it felt like we were getting up from Shiva, the week long initial mourning period, and how much it all still hurt, but dully.
And how they burned for months and months, and how people are still silent on the F train as it moves over the Mahattan Bridge and past where they were.
And the year has passed, and it's time to move forward.
May you all be blessed with a better year.