To celebrate my college graduation, I decided to celebrate with a visit to Ireland, the country of my grandparents. My Mom decided to join me. We had just finished a tour of Knowth, an ancient Neolithic site near where my maternal grandparents were from. Someone heard our accents and said how sorry they were. We were both confused, and they filled us in. Later we listened to the radio and found out more about what happened. We called home to Boston and discovered our family was immensely worried about us. We were more worried about them as we heard the flights had been from Boston. A few days later, the flight band was still in effect. We booked tickets home for a week later, extended our rental car and continued to explore Ireland. The Irish were positively lovely in extending their respects to our country. Though we heard more about the Irish who perished in the attacks than the Americans.
Flying home was interesting. My Mom was stopped at every single luggage check point. I think she unpacked and repacked her carry on about 4 times.
Arriving home was harder. The heaviness of the losses was palpable in the air. We were happy to be reunited with our family. To see for sure that everyone was safe. Hear the stories of what they had been going through. How my brother has to go by tanks on a daily basis. Yet, I was not inundated with the constant non-stop news and showing of the towers falling. I felt it affected me less personally.
A year later, I moved to New York. I saw how it brought NYC together. I saw the damage and the honors. Over the years I've heard the stories of people's experiences who were there and grossly affected. The lingering affects that are still with them. I still feel removed. I don't think it's fair to those who lived through it and survived to talk about how much 9/11 impacted me. Instead I'd like to think about how I can support those who did any way I can. Hope that I honor those who did not survive.