The Day It Rained Cement

The Day It Rained Cement

Today, September 11, 2017, is the sixteenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the U.S.

Nine eleven. That’s all you need to say. We all remember. Everyone remembers where they were and how they felt.

Time shapes perspective. We move, get married, have children, lose loved-ones. Life changes. We change.

Often a shift in perspective changes the way we remember things.

As I consider where the U.S. was then, in 2001, and where it is now, in 2017, I cannot help but be astonished. And saddened.

Recently, by chance, I came across what I wrote for my clients and friends that night sixteen years ago. I offer it for your consideration, because while some things change, some things don’t; time and perspective have not altered the truth of these words.

Today, let us remember all who perished, and all that has come to pass, and who we have become, since that dark day.

And let us all commit ourselves, once again, to the pursuit of peace and building something that will last.

We need more bridges, not walls.

_______________________________

The Day It Rained Cement

September 11, 2001

The day began as any other.

I flipped on the TV as the coffee brewed and watched a bit of morning news, nursing my wake-up cup of java as I do each morning, the start of another day. Just an ordinary Tuesday morning, sunny and clear. When a report of a fire at the World Trade Centre interrupted the regular broadcast, I watched and wondered at the spectacle, never suspecting the ultimate impact of what I was about to witness.

Expecting to sit only a short time until details were forthcoming and wanting to use that time productively, I picked up my current project, a crocheted bedspread I was constructing for my niece for Christmas; it represented many hours of my time and love. Though only three and a half years old, she might not appreciate it as much now as when she grows older, but that’s okay. I want to give her something that she might value longer than a current passing interest. I want to give her something that will last.

As the horror unfolded, I sat glued to the couch. I spoke to family and friends who called to give virtual hugs, a verbal testimony to the power of paradigm shifts, a remembrance of things truly important. I watched in disbelief as the second plane crashed into the Trade Meter tower. It felt like I was watching a Hollywood movie. The night before—was it only last night?—I had watched the highly touted first instalment of Tom Hanks’ ten-part World War II series, “Band of Brothers.” Computer generated airborne attack scenes recreated brutal assaults.

Not today. This was real. No computer in the world could generate what the world’s eyes witnessed. Those who perished today will not get up to play another part in another movie or another day. I alternated between dumbstruck numbness and body-wrenching grief, a piercing of something, some place deeper than any piercing I have known thus far in my life.

I remember John F. Kennedy’s death: a fifth grader, my school closed early and we were all sent home. When Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated, I remember the look on my father’s face and the tears in his eyes. I remember where I was when George Wallace was shot and crippled, and what I was doing when I heard the news of Robert Kennedy’s death. But these were far away things, things that wouldn’t last.

I will remember this day, too. Though I live in Canada now, I am an American. My country was attacked today. The uncertainty of the future looms large in my heart even as it stays anchored to the anguish of all the lost lives in the present. My sense of outrage, grief, and horror is disabling.

As I type these words I feel exhausted and numb. I want to lash out at someone. Where is my generation’s Hitler? There is no convenient face upon which we can pile our collective frustrations. There is no singular nation whose butt we can turn over our knee and firmly spank. It is a collective face, a collective evil, and it flourishes in many places and has many faces.

But let’s not lose sight of the enemy’s name. Let us not forget the power of naming a thing for what it is. Today’s tragedy is merely symptomatic. The disease that spawned this horrendous act of desecration is the result of a work wide illness. It has been spreading for a very long time.

Its name is fear.

And I sit here, crocheting a blanket made in love, from love, for love, and wonder how long it can last in a world where the tallest building in the biggest city can be felled to the ground in a matter of moments. Yet, it is important to me to continue to believe and so I sit, all day, watching images I will never forget, as they happen, thinking of my family, crocheting a security blanket of love.

The world changed today. The blister burst. It could be the catalyst for healing, or infection. Winston Churchill’s words echo in my head: “This could be “our finest hour.” I must choose to believe it. Not to do so would be to announce fear’s victory, a succumbing to the illness and a relinquishment of all personal freedom and power. It would be the ultimate defeat.

We must not let that happen. We must call on the collective power of humanity. Perhaps this act of unprecedented terrorism will summon forth from the people of the world the best and brightest part of ourselves that demands to be heard. The small voice in each of us that has whispered before and can no longer be ignored. The part of us that screams, “Enough!”

Enough hatred and contempt. Enough anger and envy. Enough poison and pills, bombs and missiles. Enough fear and resentment. Enough chasing after fortune and fame. Enough worrying and ulcers and schedules and meetings. Enough money and credit cards and new cars and clothes. Enough keeping score and weighing balances. Enough holding onto petty grievances and perceived slights. Enough nursing the wounds of the past. Enough sorrow, bitterness, and regret. Enough is enough!

It is time for all of us—not just Americans—to stand up.  It’s easy to point the finger of blame and spin our theories of what could’ve, should’ve, or would’ve happened “if only.” It’s too easy. And too passive. The real effort begins right here. Inside. Examining our own motives. Our own hearts to make small, daily choices that can eliminate to climate that fosters hatred and intolerance. It is time to stand up for something, not simply stand up to someone. It’s time to build something that will last.

This is not about the United States. We’re just the big boys on the block. They can bomb us, they can burn us, the can batter us, but they cannot bury us under the rubble of their hatred.

Now is the time. Treasure each moment.

Choose love instead of fear.

Let’s give our children something that will last.

 

 



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About
Cynthia Barlow

Founder Cynthia Barlow

Facilitator, Author, Coach

Helping businesses build their people

When your people have the skills to communicate more effectively, they can connect more easily and collaborate more productively. Not only on the job, but also in life.

Communication, Connection, and Collaboration—the three “C’s”—are the cornerstones of all successful businesses. They are the result of Emotional Intelligence in action.

More details can be found in my recent best seller with co-author Jennifer Eggers:
Resilience: It’s Not About Bouncing Back

The power of resilience within organizations can transform an average company into a powerhouse. Yet, even in times of rapid disruptive change, there is no manual for building resilient organizations. This book is that manual.

“If you  want to build more resilience intentionally—personally and professionally—read this book.
~
Fran Karamousis, Chief  of Research, Gartner

 

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