September Sadness

I remember the eerie quiet in NYC in the days and weeks after. The echo of sirens that day. People running in the streets. The haunting ball of fire. The empty sky. The bitter taste of smoke and ash. The fear of going out and the fear of staying home. The police barriers on 14th Street. The kindness and softness in people's eyes. The phone ringing and ringing. The endless stream of tears. Walking around crying, tears at lunch, on line in Starbucks, in bed at night trying to sleep, crying so much it was hard to breathe. Sobbing in the park one day, the woman who stopped and placed her hand on my back without saying a word. Walking the streets for hours, not wanting to be alone in the apartment. Seeing all those flyers and photos, feeling hopeful that people might be found. Realizing one day that no one would be found. Sitting in the kitchen of my brother's firehouse late into the night drinking tea. Turning to the Portraits of Grief in the Times every morning first thing, wanting to know who every single one of those people was. Needing to know.