I’m not an American, and I’ve never been to New York. Instead of taking a boat on the coast of Labrador these past two weeks, I had been thinking of visiting NYC as my fall break. (For the love of decency, don’t tell my mother that.)
I met a really cool freelance photographer from Staten Island, who I am certain was nowhere near getting back to the city when all hell broke loose, but his wife and family are still there. On Tuesday morning, they were near the top of the list of people I was thinking about when I first learned of what had happened, and found myself in front of the TV just in time to see the second tower come down. We all thought it was a replay of the first. I didn’t see the video replay of the actual attack until about half an hour later, in a hotel bar, and it took a long time for me to intellectually pinch myself, and realize, no, this is real, this is not a movie, and that silhouetted object that looks like a missile had dozens of children, husbands, mothers, lovers, and friends aboard.
I tried hard not to think about what they had been thinking or feeling as they realized what had happened, and what would happen. What were they thinking as they saw the Manhattan skyline?
There are a lot of people still mourning, and more in too much shock to start mourning yet. There are the unexpected and minor (compared to the horror of the attacks) consequences that are still reveberating, from loads of sea urchins that couldn’t be flown to markets in Japan in time, to the moment I froze when I saw a distant plane yesterday that happened to be flying in a line with, but many miles from, some equally distant tall buildings. Even I was surprised to find myself freeze like that.
I jumped out of my skin when one of my cats toppled a laundry hamper with a loud crash.
I found myself nervous walking past a couple of small twin office towers many long miles from Manhattan.
But what silver linings are there in the clouds of smoke and dust and debris?
There are the new friendships that have been made between stranded USA-bound travellers and residents of Canadian airport towns where they were forced to divert. There were thousands of people put up across Canada in church basements and private homes.
There was the incredible scene of the 100,000 people on Parliament Hill, in one of the largest memorials inside or outside the US, showing that this attack may have been in the US, but it is being responded to as if it was on the entire civilized world.
There are the people who ended up at blood donor clinics who never gave before, and who may now end up being regulars, easing the always-present blood and plasma crunches.
There is the renewed appreciation for life, even if tinged with survivor’s guilt… never mind that I was 2000 miles from New York at the time, I was eating a sandwich at lunch today, and found myself very consciously thankful to be eating a sandwich at lunch today, safe, healthy, happy, and home. I can only hope it lasts, and I hope I won’t need a copy of one of those horrible pictures of the people in the windows of the upper floors of the WTC to remind me of how grateful I should be for every second.
There is the assurances that Muslims and other minority community members are receiving from their friends, neighbours, and co-workers, that no matter who is found to be responsible for this atrocity, they are still valued and loved as friends and neighbours. I can only hope that these sentiments will balance out somewhat the unfortunate words and deeds that have been directed against many innocent people since Tuesday morning.
Where else can you draw hope in humans and in humanity from the clouds and the awful smell and the mountain of debris? What else do you give thanks for even as you have so many other emotions swirling around in your head?