Friday, June 13, 2014

No day shall erase you from the memory of time.

I rarely have five minutes to myself to reflect or think on any given day. With a full-time job, a preschooler and a toddler, it just doesn't happen as often as it used to. The romantic evenings of sprawling out across my bed, pen in hand, to write in my journal are long gone. Ashlyn wakes up around 5:45 or 6 a.m. every.single.morning and from that moment on there is a caucophony of sound in our house for the rest of the day: milk and cereal being splashed into a bowl, cabinets being slammed, lunches being made, brothers being yelled at, screeching and drumming and toddler feet running...non-stop chaos. While I wouldn't trade any of it for the world, there are certainly days where I crave peace and just FIVE MINUTES of silence to serenely sip my coffee while staring off into space.

On Wednesday I visited the 9/11 museum and memorial. I had about 105 consecutive minutes to walk through the space and reflect on a day that changed the world as well as my entire perception of it. I haven't felt that completely immersed in my own thoughts in a very long time. As most people know, I am a sensitive person by nature. Some people would say too sensitive and overly nostalgic. I always strain to find the negativity in it, though--when someone says, "Oh, you're so sensitive" like it's a dirty word, it just doesn't make sense to me. As a sensitive and young person (21!), even though I didn't know anyone personally affected by the tragedy, I took it really hard. I completely immersed myself in the news for months; eyes glazed over as I watched the camera pan thousands of missing person flyers, listened to panicky voicemail messages and witnessed the towers collapsing over and over again.

I think the museum is tastefully done. I know there had been a lot of controversy regarding how to display the artifacts from that day; what to display; and how to arrange everything so that it evokes the appropriate level of emotion and pays respect to the nearly 3,000 people that lost their lives. The space is massive...almost cavernous...and you are immediately pulled into the events of the day with multi-media messaging from news audio clips to witness accounts and photographs of people reacting to the smoking towers (I remember actually thinking "heads in hands" a few times because every single person, no matter what age or what walk of life, had their eyes raised up to the sky with a look of utter shock and horror and their hands covering their forehead. As if to convey that they literally could not believe their eyes. And they probably couldn't.) As you walk further down the hallway, a projector flickers the missing people posters on a bare cement wall. Tears came to my own eyes as I read description after description. I felt like my 21-year-old self again. Alone. Traumatized. Ruined of any shred of innocence that remained from my childhood.

The museum is located seven stories underground, so the original flood wall that protected the towers is still in place and serves as one of the walls on the lower level. The entire space has an industrial feel overall with the exception of the smaller enclaves that are dedicated to preserving the memories and sharing the life stories of those that died. Affixed to one of the walls is the three mangled steal beams that depict the exact point of impact where the plane crashed into the North Tower between floors 96-99. It's hard to look at...a complete visual representation of the evil that took place that day.

The other part of the museum that resonated with me and nearly moved me to tears was the preservation of one of the stairways and the adjacent escalator from the North Tower. These stairs were carefully extracted from the wreckage and placed in the museum. I found it strange how one flight of stairs could generate so many different thoughts, just picturing the people fleeing for their lives and hearing the rescuers shouting out advice to help as many as possible. I stared at these stairs for quite some time, just thinking of the thousands of feet that ran over them to safety...and the thousands that were unable to make it out alive. It is an eerie feeling to be so close to an object that had such an effect on the course of people's lives that day. There they are, just plain old cement stairs, and yet they tell a story that no one else can.

The next time I visit, I'd like to spend more time by the fountains. They are amazing in their size and depth, and an interesting and obvious contrast to what used to exist in that space. You can't help but look up into the vast, open sky and see a huge, gaping hole that will never be filled again. It's a poignant and sad reminder that 13 years may have passed but the fact remains that those people are gone forever. Everything about the site points toward reverence, but not in an overly religious way. I don't think the museum is for everyone, but it is definitely an experience you will never forget.