Sadness remains in memories of 9-11

Three things in particular stick with me from Sept. 11, 2001.

Foremost, of course, was the shock — waking up and hearing on the radio that the World Trade Centre in New York was on fire, then watching in horror on CNN as the towers collapsed.

Knowing it was happening before your eyes, that it wasn’t a tape and certainly wasn’t fiction, was sickening to the core.

I was transfixed to the TV when Bob Price called wanting a comment from the mayor for his next newscast on NL. What does one say, other than expressing your own shock?

The second thing I remember is my house. I remember the walls, the pictures, doors, kitchen cabinets, what everything looked like on that single morning, in high-definition clarity.

You’d think a state of shock would confuse, make things a blur, but for whatever reason my brain photographed my environment. Psychologists might conclude it was some sort of subliminal desire to re-assure myself that I was in familiar, and safe, surroundings, far from the scene of the death and destruction.

Thirdly, I remember the universal sense of despair, followed by great compassion and unity with our neighbours in the U.S. At our council meeting that day, I quoted Mahatma Gandhi’s reassurance that tyrants and murderers always fall.

Someone needed to lead our community response to what was going on, and the mayor was the natural one to do it. So, I got on the phone and started putting together a memorial service.

On Friday of that same week, on the National Day of Mourning, several hundred of us gathered in front of City Hall. We sang our national anthem, and the Star Spangled banner, and stood silently for Amazing Grace.

There is no more doleful song than Amazing Grace, and as Coun. Peter Sharp played that sad lament on his bagpipes the entire gathering was on the verge of tears.

RCMP Supt. Andy Murray had trouble holding back those tears as, voice breaking, he spoke about the courage of emergency personnel who sacrificed themselves to save the lives of others in the World Trade Centre.

Fire and rescue chief John Chernoff honoured “three hundred brothers and sisters who will forever be heroes.” His words were made all the more poignant by the backdrop of City fire trucks parked along First Avenue for the occasion.

I had asked Dave Carlson, a City planner born in Michigan, to act as our international representative that day, and he laid a wreath at the podium to honour the dead. “I dedicate this bouquet to the memory of those lost on Tuesday,” he said.

Patricia McColl and Connie Thompson spoke on behalf of local churches; Peter Kirby represented war veterans.

For my own part, I tried to express the unfairness of so many innocent mothers, fathers, sons, daughters and friends losing their lives to the insanity of international terrorism.

Many people said later that the opportunity to come together to express our condolences helped them through, that there was comfort in sharing thoughts and words.

These are the things I remember about 9-11 and its aftermath in a Canadian city thousands of miles away from Ground Zero. And I still feel profound sadness whenever I think about it.