Whether or not you intend it, you think about it. Six years can pass, many more atrocities can happen, and it’s still there, returning unexpectedly, like cancer from remission.
I was disappointed to read in today's Metro, the redoubtable fish wrapper that it is, that the city of Boston was not commemorating September 11, 2001. (Though the state and other government agencies did hold ceremonies.) And the articles showcased New Yorkers who are still scared, tourism business at the trade center site, and a woman leaving town with "WTC asthma." The homepage of The Boston Globe gave equal weight to the anniversary and to the death of Alex the talking parrot. (Though admittedly, New Yorkers ate this story up as well; it was on top of the most emailed list for the day.)
From what I can tell, Boston barely mourns the 92 Massachusetts residents who died that day. And they view the heavy casualties in New York as just another reason why Boston is a better place to live. Don't they remember that those planes left from this town? Have they ever examined how they failed? How the government failed them?
It was a raw day today, fog and rain abruptly ending thoughts of a lingering summer. Our acknowledgements of this day have continued to shrink, as each year has brought more tragedies and heartbreaks that make September 11, 2001 seem like just the beginning of a long, numbing stretch of events we would have previously thought impossible. Would we have imagined, six years ago, just how high the body count would climb? And that it would be done by our own hand? And what lies in wait for us down the road?
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