"Candidly Yours"

September 14, 2001

Written September 11, 2001

Recoiling in Horror, Aching in Grief
by Linda A. Prussen-Razzano

The day began as most workdays do, with sharply dressed commuters dutifully filling the tightly fitted seats on the Long Island Railroad. A harsh swish fades to a rolling hum as towns stream quietly by. The occupants in the car are respectfully hushed, reading their morning newspapers, carefully sipping coffee, or engaging in light conversation with their fellow passengers. Some use these moments as an extension of their alarm clock’s snooze button, napping before the start of another hectic day.

When one arrives at Penn Station, the darkness of the underground gives way to expansive stairs. You pop your ears, gather your possessions, and enter a maze of shops and passages to various subway stations. You know you are in New York City just by the smell, a mingling of old buildings, darkened sidewalks, spicy foods, hot pretzels, enticing perfume, and the unpleasant tinge of stale urine.

Having spent the first 30 years of my life in New York, and having worked for a short time in The City That Never Sleeps, I can still recall many details of experiences millions of others have undoubtedly shared. Thus, when my mother made her frantic call to my home some 1,700 miles away from the World Trade Center, I felt an instant kinship with those affected by this ultimate act of horrific violence.

Even now, I am waiting for the phone to ring, waiting for word that friends and family members are safe. My sister, her voice breaking as she shut the door to her Long Island office, cannot confirm if any members of their World Trade Center branch have survived. The status of my cousin’s husband, a New York City police officer, is unknown. Two of my brothers are among the countless thousands now making their way out of the city on foot.

Senator John McCain has declared these attacks as acts of war. I completely agree with his sentiment. While the White House is carefully considering its options, looking for clues that point specifically to a particular terrorist group, the rest of the nation looks on in stunned outrage, looks for answers, and looks for ways to help.

Now is not the time for partisanship or bickering. The countless thousands who have died or been injured, the poor innocents who were hijacked, their last moments filled with untold terror, deserve far more consideration than to have politicians dancing on their graves for brownie points or talking points. Americans of all stripes should soundly reject any politician or talking head that does so.

Instead, let us lift up our voices in praise for the brave souls who ventured into the buildings to save others, for the strangers on the street who pulled the injured from the rubble, for the medical personnel flocking in from all over to help save anyone they can. Let us lift up our voices in prayer for the souls who perished, who struggle to live despite excruciating injuries, and for the families who, like myself, are desperately waiting for the phone to ring. Let us lift up our voices in unified resolve, that those who perpetrated this catastrophic monstrosity, and the animals who harbor and aided them, are blown back into the Stone Age.

No matter what state you claim as your own, no matter your background, condition, or lifestyle, this savage act of brutality was against you, too – not just the people in those particular planes, the World Trade Center, or the Pentagon. These events exposed the vulnerability of all Americans and the fragility of life as we know it. If any good came come out of this gruesome assault, it will be putting aside our petty differences and embracing commonality on goals that affect us all – our security as individuals and our sovereignty as a nation.

The phone just rang. My sister called to advise that her boss’s son, newly returned from his honeymoon, was on one of the highest floors of the Trade Center.

No one, not even his new wife, has heard from him.

Kiss your spouse, hug your kids, call your parents, and mend some fences. Realize that this could have happened in any American city, to any American commuter, to any commercial airline, to any American citizen. Donate what you can – be it blood, money, or possessions. The initial shocks of today’s events are just the beginning, a huge boulder hurled violently into the middle of an otherwise tempered pond. The reverberations will not subside for several months, perhaps years, to come.

For untold thousands, it will last a lifetime. ***

© 2001 Linda Prussen-Razzano