A Callery Pear tree sits serenely at the site of the 9/11 attacks. This same tree was found severely damaged in the aftermath. It has since, been nursed back to a vibrant health.
This sweet reminder of life and rebirth is known simply as the "Survivors' Tree."
Recently, I went to the 9/11 Memorial Museum, in lower Manhattan. I became intensely aware yet again of the reality of good vs. evil.
Love over hate.
Life triumphant over death and despair.
Having flown as a flight attendant for several years, I carry in my mind an awareness and discreet vigilance that all flight crews have especially borne in our own way, since that fateful day.
I have never truly re-watched the video of that day. I have not read or listened to the recounting. To be honest, I am not certain what I expected when I made my first visit to this special place.
What I do know is, I was surely not ready for the avalanche of emotion that swelled within my heart as I stepped lightly through the meticulously appointed cavern 70 ft beneath the earth.
I know everyone has something that just sort of gets to them more so than anything else; for me, it was the shell of a window from the American Airlines airplane that was first to hit the North Tower.
It was eerily suspended in the display of the wreckage, poised near twisted metal and a mangled seatbelt along with several other identifiable pieces of the aircraft.
It took my heart, I could have wept aloud.
Instead, I gathered the pieces of my own brokenness, and continued past so many others who had stopped to study, listen and read. I needed just a bit of air.
As I turned a corner, I saw a man in uniform near an exit.
I sat down on the bench close by and finally cried quietly for a few moments. Silent tears fell for the faces and memories and the dreams shattered.
The guard happened to look towards me and offered me a quiet exit.
I asked, 'what lies beyond what I am seeing?'
He said, 'further ahead are more remnants and beyond that is the cross.'
Choosing not to exit, I pushed myself through until the end.
The cross he referred to, I remembered, had miraculously formed at the foundation of the rubbled ashes.
Standing firmly.
Solid metal beams crisscrossing perfectly.
Resolute in Hope.
A sign of life yet to come.
This incredibly formed cross, in fact, is one of the last pieces, you see, just prior to leaving the enclosed exhibit.
Knowing I would come near to the cross had allowed me to continue.
I know full well.. there are literally thousands upon thousands of immediate family and friends whose grief still skips and pools beneath the surface of their new normal.
Some come to grieve while others cannot bear as yet to visit the site.
I left the Memorial knowing hope had indeed triumphed in the end over despair.
After leaving the Memorial and wandering in the city a bit, I decided it was time to head toward my hotel, I knew it was close but not exactly sure where.
I approached one of the many passing by, a gracious lady in business attire in the financial district which is also, just a few blocks from ground zero.
I asked for the general direction of the World Trade Center.
We chatted for a moment and then
she pointed me in the right direction and said bluntly, "I had 76 friends die there that day, I cannot even bring myself to go to the new tower" and then she was gone.
We all grieve separately and sometimes so alone. We visit memories, and memorialize the unforgettable.
What I was feeling,
or the heart wrenching pain that consumes another is not mine to compare.
Grief is often a lonely road.
I had left the Memorial that day knowing two things for certain.
First and foremost; is at the end of our life's journey, if we continue on toward the cross, it is there we will find hope.
Secondly, though my time at the reflecting pools and moments spent in the museum rekindled emotions and allowed me to honor the lost;
I came forward with the quiet significance that not only does
a 'tree grow in Brooklyn',
but settled amongst almost 400 sweet gump and white oak trees,
sits a beautiful Callery Pear tree...
still growing bravely in Manhattan.
This sweet reminder of life and rebirth is known simply as the "Survivors' Tree."
Recently, I went to the 9/11 Memorial Museum, in lower Manhattan. I became intensely aware yet again of the reality of good vs. evil.
Love over hate.
Life triumphant over death and despair.
Having flown as a flight attendant for several years, I carry in my mind an awareness and discreet vigilance that all flight crews have especially borne in our own way, since that fateful day.
I have never truly re-watched the video of that day. I have not read or listened to the recounting. To be honest, I am not certain what I expected when I made my first visit to this special place.
What I do know is, I was surely not ready for the avalanche of emotion that swelled within my heart as I stepped lightly through the meticulously appointed cavern 70 ft beneath the earth.
I know everyone has something that just sort of gets to them more so than anything else; for me, it was the shell of a window from the American Airlines airplane that was first to hit the North Tower.
It was eerily suspended in the display of the wreckage, poised near twisted metal and a mangled seatbelt along with several other identifiable pieces of the aircraft.
It took my heart, I could have wept aloud.
Instead, I gathered the pieces of my own brokenness, and continued past so many others who had stopped to study, listen and read. I needed just a bit of air.
As I turned a corner, I saw a man in uniform near an exit.
I sat down on the bench close by and finally cried quietly for a few moments. Silent tears fell for the faces and memories and the dreams shattered.
The guard happened to look towards me and offered me a quiet exit.
I asked, 'what lies beyond what I am seeing?'
He said, 'further ahead are more remnants and beyond that is the cross.'
Choosing not to exit, I pushed myself through until the end.
The cross he referred to, I remembered, had miraculously formed at the foundation of the rubbled ashes.
Standing firmly.
Solid metal beams crisscrossing perfectly.
Resolute in Hope.
A sign of life yet to come.
This incredibly formed cross, in fact, is one of the last pieces, you see, just prior to leaving the enclosed exhibit.
Knowing I would come near to the cross had allowed me to continue.
I know full well.. there are literally thousands upon thousands of immediate family and friends whose grief still skips and pools beneath the surface of their new normal.
Some come to grieve while others cannot bear as yet to visit the site.
I left the Memorial knowing hope had indeed triumphed in the end over despair.
After leaving the Memorial and wandering in the city a bit, I decided it was time to head toward my hotel, I knew it was close but not exactly sure where.
I approached one of the many passing by, a gracious lady in business attire in the financial district which is also, just a few blocks from ground zero.
I asked for the general direction of the World Trade Center.
We chatted for a moment and then
she pointed me in the right direction and said bluntly, "I had 76 friends die there that day, I cannot even bring myself to go to the new tower" and then she was gone.
We all grieve separately and sometimes so alone. We visit memories, and memorialize the unforgettable.
What I was feeling,
or the heart wrenching pain that consumes another is not mine to compare.
Grief is often a lonely road.
I had left the Memorial that day knowing two things for certain.
First and foremost; is at the end of our life's journey, if we continue on toward the cross, it is there we will find hope.
Secondly, though my time at the reflecting pools and moments spent in the museum rekindled emotions and allowed me to honor the lost;
I came forward with the quiet significance that not only does
a 'tree grow in Brooklyn',
but settled amongst almost 400 sweet gump and white oak trees,
sits a beautiful Callery Pear tree...
still growing bravely in Manhattan.
