My Story - September 12, 2001 (the miracle started with a cardboard box)

Tweet

I am re-posting this since the first one ran afoul of some technical glitch and got all screwed up. Here it is again: Today is September 11, 2009 - the eight year anniversary of America's darkest day. It is a day when I do not post in the political section here, and I do not argue with people. It is a day for tears, prayers and reflection. I want to share with you a portion of a longer story that I wrote about what happened eight years ago. I want to tell you what happened the day after our world was changed forever because I witnessed something amazing. At the time I worked at a kiosk in a shopping mall in Poughkeepsie NY, about 45 minutes north of New York City. Here is what happened: On September 12, 2001 I went to work just like everyone else who was able to did. It was at the urging of our President that we do so, as a massive act of defiance to those who sought to destroy our way of life. It was not easy going into work with such a heavy heart, but it WAS the right thing to do. I was greeted at the door to the mall by another worker who looked just as down as I felt, and she said "great day to be an American, huh?" with tears in her eyes. I don't remember what I said to her, but we did talk for a while before starting the day. The mall was like a ghost town. Who the hell would want to shop today? So I read the papers, as difficult as it was, because I felt it was my duty as a human being to read, remember and reflect, and I listened to my little radio which was no longer playing music, just broadcasting more sad news all day long. In the NY Daily News the day before had hit the newsstands hours before those terrible events - the front page story was Mariah Carey's meltdown. Oh My God, I thought to myself, how much the world we knew had changed in just a few hours! I saved that paper, and all the ones which followed in the days ahead so one day I could show my children and help them understand what had happened to my City, my Country, and my World. On September 12, 2001 I went back to work along with everyone else who was able to in an open act of defiance against those who murdered so many of my brothers and sisters and who would love nothing more than to see us crumble. We stood up the best way we could, we showed up and in our grief we fought the good fight in our own small ways. Halfway through the day I found it intolerable not to be able to do more. I called the Red Cross and other relief agencies to see how I could help. I had no money, but I had time and a strong desire to put something positive back into my shattered world. I found out what was needed by the rescue and recovery workers and the survivors who were still Downtown. They needed fresh bottled water, eye wash, clothes, bandages, and more. They needed shoes, because the people working in the "Pit" had the bottoms of their own shoes melted from the heat of the fires which still burned and would continue to burn for a very long time. I consulted my employer who was still trying to get her mind around the fact that so many people she loved had died, and she gave me permission for what I would do next. I took a big empty box and put it in front of my kiosk with a sign asking for donations of things our Heroes needed. By the end of the day the box was full, and I took it to the nearest drop off point where they would be shipping supplies to Manhattan from. I told the local radio station and newspaper what we were doing and they informed the public how they could help. I was listed among the other groups who were collecting needed items to send down to the city. I left an empty box for the next shift to collect after I went home. The next morning that box was full and another was halfway full. Older people came silently with tears in their eyes and dropped supplies in the box. Younger people came with shoes and clothes in all kinds of sizes with the tags still on them. They purchased these items themselves with their minimum wage paychecks. Cases and cases of fresh bottled water appeared before me, and the boxes continued to pile up. I filled my truck completely at the end of the day with supplies and there was still more. Two and three trips a day I would make and I still needed others to move the donations to the drop off points! My mother contacted her optomologist, and he donated cases and cases of eyewash! The response was utterly overwhelming and touched my heart in a way few things in this life ever could. Mothers whose sons were cops and firemen working in the Pit told me what else was needed and I updated the supply list regularly. Whatever we asked for, we got tenfold! It was a small thing we could all do to help, but it meant the world to me to be able to do it and have so many people open their hearts to help our Ground Zero Heroes. As long as I live, I will never forget it. Even in our darkest hours, we managed to find some light, and some hope. Along with the tales of horror and destruction, the news also started to bring us amazing stories of bravery and heroism which reminded us all of the quality of humanity. A reminder that though evil acts may befall us, good will not be suppressed for very long. As New Yorkers, as Americans, and as humans, we will ALWAYS fight the darkness and one way or another find a way to bring light back into the world we live in. God Bless America, and God Bless New York!