A brief photo essay.
Tell me they aren’t the luckiest boys. Ever.
(The other boy was inside the library waiting for his daddy to teach his after school library group about fire safety.)
We stood, 3979 days later, in quiet, reverent silence. Hand in hand, we read names as we walked by, fingers trailing along the cool stone in the heat of the day.
We paused to remember those we didn’t know. We watched the water fall, endlessly.
Silent, slow, and deliberate, we honored.
Standing in front of FDNY Ten House’s Memorial Wall, we fall just as silent. A firefighter and his wife, silent and still. Remembering. Breathing. Being.
And then, words. Wise words. To live by, whether talking about politics or your relationship with your loved ones or how you deal with bloggers at a conference.
I stand and stare. I feel, I hope. I want to believe that we all remember, that we haven’t forgotten. That we, the ones who carry on, are doing all we can to amplify love, to dissipate hate. I know, in the same thought, that I fail at times — in all regards. I pledge to do my best, to think of the names I touched, to say a prayer over all of us who remain. I hope my children won’t be witness to this kind of hatred in their time.
I take my firefighter’s hand and say a prayer of thankfulness for what remains… and we carry on.