From South Tower to South Pool

World Trade Center Memorial, NYC

My first thought as I absorbed the tidy, minimalist setting of the reborn World Trade Center site was how glad New Yorkers must be to have had this tribute built for them. But as I looked around, I realised that it wasn't just built for New Yorkers, it was built BY New Yorkers. Everyone who shares these zip codes has shared in the loss and rehabilitation whether they lost loved ones in the attacks or not. Having only visited the city a few times and never having had the bittersweet pleasure of seeing the twin towers standing proudly over this tightly woven metropolitan forest, I can't even imagine the journey that these residents have taken to achieve this level of calm. It was eerily quiet but sublimely serene as I walked around... as if visitors were saddened to see what their towering glories have been reduced to, but realising some level of closure and content that they can now visit the site and see peace.

My young nephew who was travelling with me asked me if I thought that something like 9/11 would happen again. I was surprised at how quickly I came up with my response: I told him that the people who did this have already done their damage and probably don't feel the need to do anything else. I wasn't just providing a reassuring answer to an eleven year old.. that's actually my own opinion about it. Reassuring myself as well perhaps? And although the security process to attain entry to the memorial was elaborate and there were police officers and security guards everywhere - patrolling or remembering or both -  there was nothing foreboding about standing there. In fact, I felt fortunate to have secured the opportunity to stand there. It made me further realise that the damage was not only done to New York, but to everyone who believes in goodness... in humanity... in life...

I observed those who had suffered personal loss as they garnered what they needed from their visit: some were photographing the blue directional and identification signs, some were sitting quietly absorbing their experience, others had secured tiny flowers or rosary beads into a recessed letter that was important to them. A young lady next to me was working on making imprints into sheets of paper by colouring over the letters in the name of a loved one. These names were not simply engraved into the metal skirt that bordered each memorial pool - one pool for each tower's footprint - every letter was cut all the way through the sheet, creating a substantial reminder of those who lost their lives in those events ten years ago. I also thought it poignant that the names were not organised alphabetically, but grouped with family, colleagues, precincts, brigades, and other socially relevant assemblies. Close in life, close in memory.