Writing this Friday Truth for Sept. 11, I struggled with what to say. So I decided to dedicate this one to the people, the stories, and everything it still represents — from the perspective of a firefighter outside the FDNY who, over the last few years, has been fortunate to build so many friendships and, in some small way, gain a view from the outside looking in.
Here we are. It is Sept. 11, and I am sad. I am sad for what happened that day, for the brothers we lost, and for the many more we have lost in the years since. There are faces I picture now, some I have come to know, some only through stories that have been shared with me, and with many of them, I see smiles before I see anything else. More than anything, I find myself wanting to say thank you to the people who continue to show up, who continue to share these stories, and who continue to remind me of what this fire service is capable of. I am humbled to call myself a firefighter when I think about what so many in this profession have endured, and what that day continues to mean 25 years later.
I still feel like a spectator sometimes. I can be involved, know the people, spend time with the organizations, hear the stories directly from those who lived them, and there is still a part of me that knows I was not there. There is a huge difference between hearing about loss and living through it, and I never want to confuse the two. At the same time, I would be lying if I said those stories have not changed me.
Empathy came later in life for me. When I was younger, I did not naturally put myself in someone else’s place. Getting older helped, the job helped more, and by the time I started hearing these stories, I had already changed enough to actually understand what I was being told. Over time, I became much more aware that understanding the facts of what happened and understanding what something did to a person are two very different things.
Understanding Grief
Now I am trying to get my head wrapped around grief. I heard comedian Jimmy Carr say the opposite of grief is not happiness; it is forgetting. I find that fascinating — the line is more philosophical than scientific, but I will entertain it. I do not know that forgetting is literally the opposite of grief. Grief is not so black-and-white in my experience. We can remember someone for the rest of our lives without hurting the same way forever. But the more I read about grief, the more I think Carr was getting at something important. Moving forward does not require forgetting. It does not even require the grief to diminish completely.
Happiness does not require us to stop grieving. We can laugh, love, enjoy our families, be grateful for our lives, and still have something inside us hurt when we think about the people we have lost. Those things can exist together. In fact, I think they probably have to. The people and events that have meant the most to us do not simply disappear from our lives because enough time has passed.
If the opposite of grief really is forgetting, then maybe grief does not have an expiry date, because we knowingly do not want to forget. Maybe some of it stays because we have made a decision, consciously or otherwise, that forgetting is simply not an option — and perhaps even because part of us would feel guilty if it stopped hurting. I can be grateful for what this profession has given me and still feel the sadness of what it has cost. One does not need to replace the other.
Remembering Without Forgetting
Maybe that is what this day has become for me. Sadness, gratitude, respect, and happiness can all exist in the same place. I can be thankful for the friendships that have come into my life and still feel the sting of why some of those relationships and stories exist in the first place. I can look at the people I know today, see their smiles, appreciate who they are, and still understand there are parts of their lives I will never fully know.
The truth is, if forgetting is the opposite of grief, then maybe I finally understand why this still hurts. I do not need grief to leave before happiness can exist, and I do not need 25 years to make any of this mean less. Some people, some stories, and some days become part of who we are because we refuse to let time reduce what they meant. If remembering means there will always be some sadness attached to this, then I can live with that. I would rather feel the loss than ever reach a place where it no longer matters.
To the FDNY, to the families of the fallen, to those who survived, and to everyone who has spent the last 25 years keeping their stories alive — thank you.
May we continue to remember the names, tell the stories, and never allow the passage of time to diminish what they meant.
We remember.
Photo by Steve Baer | FireDog Photos
