Good Riddance

On that Tuesday, I was heading to a townhome community I managed to meet with a board member and two landscapers.  Just as I was turning from Union Boulevard onto Lackawanna, Z100's Danielle Monaro announced that one of the twin towers had been hit by a plane. 

I called April, who was en route to the city, and told her.  I proceeded to the site and met up with my group.  We didn't discuss landscaping very much at all, but rather what had just happened.  The board member Eleanor started worrying when we found out that the plane had come from Boston, as her daughter was flying in from there that day.  While the landscapers climbed to higher ground to see the skyline, Eleanor and I headed to her home to call her daughter.

A few minutes later we all met back in the street: Eleanor's daughter was on a later flight and the landscapers had just watched the second tower fall.

I didn't make it into my office and spent the day visiting my friend Bart in the hospital.  Later on that day a bald, red-bearded man in a shirt with the words Grandma's Pizza on it came to visit Bart.  We were quickly introduced, but he didn't stay long.  After only a short visit, he was gone, presumably back to work. 

Yes, I met my husband, who completely ignored me, on September 11, 2001.

April ended up walking from the Path train in Hoboken to Route 3 before being able to hail a cab and get home.  For those who are not familar, that's a frackin' far walk.

The next morning it took me three hours to get to work.  I sat in what could only be described as the friendliest traffic I've ever experienced.  People letting other people in, no one cutting anyone else off.  I saw tens if not hundreds of trucks and vans filled with people and supplies all heading into NY to volunteer.  I listened to the Z Morning Zoo and Howard Stern talk about what was going on.  I cried for most of the ride.

I remember visiting Hoboken weeks later, the Missing Person posters still taped to walls and bus depots, blowing in the wind.  I could have stood there all night staring at the posters, reading about those lost but not forgotten.

I don't need to see the body, the pictures, or the video.  I believe it.  Watching what they have claimed was a proper Islamic burial would just pissed me off, as he deserved to face the decision of whether to be burned alive or to jump out of a building like so many Americans did.  Reading the posts on Facebook about how it is wrong to celebrate the death of a human enrages me even more.  How quickly we forget the feelings we experienced just 10 years ago.  How easy it is to take the high road after he has been killed. 

I listened to Barack Obama when he promised to find him and I believed him.  I feel like this day was always forthcoming and I am happy that it is finally here.  I knew we'd get here.

September 11, 2001 will never be forgotten.  I will never forget where I was and what I saw.  And I will not be made to feel bad about how I feel today.  I can't wait to tell my daughter about how on May 2, 2011, when I realized that disgusting, depraved bastard had been killed by American troops, I smiled a big fat smile.  Because I'm happy.


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