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Remembering September 11th: My Story
Written by
Bonnie Gillespie
, Staff Writer, Redcross.org
Thursday, September 11, 2003 — A moment of silence began the day. A small cluster of co-workers gathered near flags lowered to half-mast, our heads bowed in unspoken prayers. A poem, read softly, evoked names of those lost, of someone’s father or sister or best friend. Images of smoke and sadness resurfaced, but only for a moment.
Filing back inside, back to work, back to official Red Cross business, a feeling of incompleteness tugged at me -- What else can I do? How can I remember?
While walking back through the Red Cross building’s lobby, as I do every morning, I glanced to the right and saw the distant set of glass doors leading to the donation center as if for the first time. And I knew then how I could remember.
The Blood Services Center receptionist greeted me kindly, ushered me to a comfortable chair in a sun-drenched waiting room and filled my hands with forms and donation literature. Beside me, a young man in a suit holding a similar bundle glanced up and smiled. I thought – he, too, is trying to remember.
Though the Blood Donor card buried in my wallet was marked “Active Hero,” months had passed since my last donation. In the delirium of the day to day, sometimes the simplest deeds are overlooked as our waking hours become overloaded with activity. But on a day that reminds us to act courageously in response to tragedy, I wanted to honor those whose lives were taken two years ago by helping to save the life of another.
I wanted to remember.
Watching the blood flow through a tube tapping into my vein, I wondered who would receive this lifesaving pint in days to come. Would it help return the color to the cheeks of a child, or offer strength to a sick body?
I thought back to that day two years ago, when a sea of people, their faces concealed by ashes, enveloped in a dense fog of debris, moved like a river through the streets of New York. I remember how their arms interlocked, supporting one another, and I wondered – how do they remember?
The nurse patted me gently; my eyes flickered open to meet hers. “You’re doing good,” she said softly. But in my mind I heard what might have been a parent’s final affirming words to their child. “You’ll do great on your math test today,” or “Good luck at your soccer game.” And I thought about small eyes watching them walk out the front door for the last time. A civil servant, a secretary, a coach, a father, a mother – how will the child who lost a parent remember?
“Remember to squeeze your fist,” said the nurse. As I clenched my fingers around the rubberized grip, I saw gritty, determined firefighters charging up stairs. Courage. Commitment. Compassion. I wriggled my fingers, counted to ten and squeezed again, harder this time; the firefighters resolve is mine for a moment. “But not too tightly,” the nurse reminded me. Sweltering in heat and fumes, they shovel and sift through a mound of ruins, a flag is raised. Will they be remembered?
The lifeline is removed without a flinch and a coke and a cookie later, I’m out in the sunshine. Unlike two years ago, there was no snaking line of would-be heroes outside the donor center. In the hours and days after September 11, 2001, blood centers across the country were flooded with people knowing that donating was a way they could help.
More than 3,000 lives were lost that day, but every day in our country, more than 38,000 blood donations are needed. One donation can save up to three people – that’s 114,000 lives every day hanging in the balance, while we struggle through our routine, unable to find the time, unable to remember.
I just wanted to remember. And I know on September 11th in years to come that giving blood is at least one way, one way I can remember.
Contact your local American Red Cross chapter, find out how to donate blood and take part in remembering the victims, loved ones, the heroes of September 11, 2001.
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