Some of us want to forget
We lived in a small commuter town 10 miles from the WTC, so we were there, or nearby. I watched it unfold on a TV screen with my young daughter, wondering how to tell her that Daddy was probably dead, because nobody a block away could possibly be alive after those buildings went down. He didn’t die, but we know dozens who did die—and we had to deal with the consequences.
My husband was smoking a cigarette outside the American Stock Exchange, a half-block away, when the first plane hit. He was a Floor Governor and had to stay to sweep the building of people. They were told to stay in the building, but when the second tower collapsed they were sent into the streets, running for their lives. He never was quite the same again. Curiously, he developed kidney cancer soon afterwards. He’s currently pushing 60, on unemployment with no prospects—and no medical insurance.
We lost our businesses, our home, our marriage and our family. We don’t want to be reminded by fresh-faced “Proud Americans” who use “Never Forget” as a “Me Too” rallying cry. We have to forget to move forward.
And, as long as I’m on the subject, where were all these breast-beaters when we needed help? I made many calls to the dozens of “Survivors of 9/11″ charities that sprung up afterwards. Every one offered me a list of referrals to other ‘services’ that offered me referrals to—well, you get the point.
|An armed guard poses beside pallets of $100 bills in Baghdad.|
Money to bomb Iraq and Afghanistan? Yep. $12 billion to ship on pallets to Iraq to ‘fund’ Iraqi ministries and US contractors? Yep yep. Money for a parade to haul a hunk of steel from NYC to Milwuakee, Wisconsin (where no one died in 9/11) ? Yeppers.
Money for the living who involuntarily paid the ultimate price? Um, not so much.
Current pictures of the WTC site rebuilding from my June trip to NYC here.