When the tragedy happened, people were stunned. For those who worked there or had friends, it was unimaginable. Although I didn’t live in New York at the time, for a moment, we were all New Yorkers. As the years passed and the museum and new development progressed, I often thought of visiting, but didn’t want to, perhaps because my memories of the buildings were too strong, making it hard to believe they no longer existed.
For a couple of months, I worked temporarily in one of the towers. Coming and going was a mad rush of people going in and out. Our offices were on the 90-something floor. Going up was unusual; we could hear the whooshing of air as the elevator flew up to our floor.
After putting it off for years, on a visit to New York City around my birthday, I did head to the museum for a long-overdue tour. It was time. As I visited the museum, the buildings’ memories, the vibrancy of the activity in and around them, and the subsequent devastating loss of life were overwhelming. There are so many memories – and they all came flooding back the second I walked into the exhibits. The young and newly married husband of my daughter’s high school friend was memorialized there forever. She was 3 months pregnant with their daughter when he died, and while their lives have gone on without him, his name is carved in stone as a constant reminder of horrific and unnecessary loss.
There are artifacts, remembrances, photos, voices, clippings, steel pieces, and concrete at every turn in the museum. In the background, through the silence, everyone hears the song “Amazing Grace” played softly and so well by a bagpipe musician. It isn’t a museum of paintings and sculptures created hundreds of years ago — it’s a living, breathing, and powerful reminder of people, places, and an event that was (and is) unimaginable to everyone. Please don’t miss this experience. It will remain in your thoughts forever.
Are we there yet? 