In April of 2002 I was 20 years old. My cousin and I visited New York City for a weekend. We visited Ground Zero. I feels like darkness in my memory, but I believe it was daylight. We stood and listened to the rustling of paper strung on chain link fencing. There were pictures, baby toys, remnants of life, all carefully strung, each memento suspended in hope, hung and fading in the sun over the passage of time. We stood under the giant iron cross that stood defiant in the sea of debris.
The storefronts were open, something resembling life had returned to the void. In one storefront, there was an encapsulated corner, all contents bearing the ash of the fallen. All but one small American Flag on the breast of a t-shirt, which had been carefully wiped clean. It was before the days of cellphones and photography, but I will carry the essence of the day forever in my soul.
The following year I withdrew from college. I went in pursuit of passion and found myself living on a sailboat in Key West. A life I long to revisit someday. As I lay watching the sun rise and set each day, lulled peacefully by the waves, I thought often of that day at Ground Zero. I thought often with great hope, that the souls of that place would each come to know a place like I had found. A place where the veil between heaven and Earth is thin, where the parades of clouds March in tune to the sunset, and we all celebrate. A place where the soul dwells contentedly in peace. I hoped that if they’d needed it, they hitched a ride to this place with me, and that they too, found their peace.
Ms. Is 