Sinking to the depths and rising from the ashes: Resilience personified in New York
Last week I went with my family to Ground Zero, The New York site of the National 9/11 Memorial & Museum. To avoid the record-breaking February cold, our tour guide, Mary, met us in the Fulton Center. The newly rebuilt subway hub, originally erected in 1905, was decimated by the 911 attacks. The $1.4 billion glass prism has a funky tubular shape with basket-like webbing on the ceiling allowing light to filter down 4 floors to the subway level.
It was here that our guide eloquently described being 9 months pregnant on 9/11, trapped in her apartment, worried about going into labor. I was already moved to tears and we had yet to reach the actual Ground Zero site.
From Fulton Center, we crossed the street to St. Paul’s Chapel. It was built in 1766 and was used as a resting spot for soldiers during the Revolutionary War. It is the oldest building in the city and was once the tallest. George Washington worshiped here when New York was the nation’s Capital, including on his inauguration day 1789.
The Chapels vaulted ceilings are bathed in soft light from its shimmering crystal chandeliers. Its pale pastel walls are washed in soothing pinks and blues. It’s called the “The Little Chapel That Stood” because it withstood the mass destruction of the twin towers falling directly next to it. Many nearby modern structures crumbled, but St. Paul’s miraculously survived without a single broken window. As in centuries past, it was again transformed into a place of refuge, this time for first responders and other emergency personnel. On display are the many tributes in the form of notes, quilts and artwork. Today it serves as a gathering place for people of all faiths to grieve, worship and be in a community of fellowship.
Next, we walked through the ancient church cemetery where we had a full view of the new One World Trade Center. Despite the cold, the kids were doing fine. I confess that I suffer from ‘over-accommodation syndrome’. Symptoms include a chronic sense of responsibility for all family members to be 100% content and comfortable at all times. They were engaged, and off of their cells phones, so I was relieved.
From here we could see the nearly completed Santiago Calatrava-designed Oculus, or One World Trade Center transportation hub. It was designed to look like a bird in flight with white steel wings and light filtering in from above. Talk about symbolic architectural details! I usually don’t get excited about a train station, but this one was magnificent.
Our tour continued through a space age tunnel. The shiny white marble made me feel like I was in a Kubrick film. All I could think of was the line (from 2001 A Space Odyssey), “Open the pod bay doors, Hal.” The following link gives more info on the Oculus.
When we arrived at the Memorial, the human side of the 9/11 tragedy came into focus. The World Trade Center complex consists of an eight-acre plaza with neat rows of white oak trees surrounding the two reflecting pools. The name of the monument is Reflecting Absence, by Israeli Architect Michael Arad and American Landscape Architect Peter Walker. Since the wind was blowing, the water had been temporarily turned off so as not to splash the surface where the victim’s names are engraved. While I was disappointed not to see the largest man-made waterfalls in North America in action, there was still plenty of drama in the sheer size and depth of these structures. The sun was gleaming off the bronze panels carved with the names of the 2983 victims.
I was overcome with a sense of humility and deep respect not only for the victims but for the creators of the memorial. There were years of fierce battles fought and tight budgets busted trying to preserve the dignity of the dead while making a pleasant place to visit and remember. In the end, they succeeded.
As I traced my hand over the names, I imagined hearing their voices, their laughter, or a somber reading of their name in a memorial service. Yet, there was life in this graveyard shrine. The fact that the sun shone brightly helped. I can see how the mood would change with the weather.
One of the most emotional parts of the tour for me was the birthday remembrance tradition, wherein by a single white rose is stuck in the crevice of the name, memorializing another year lost. We came across a rose and exchanged anguished sighs for this woman. Her name was Patricia Cushing. Later, in the museum, we learned more about this mother of five grown children, from those whose lives she touched. The rose embodied the ‘Reflect Absence’ theme, for what would have been her 84th birthday.
We were all pretty somber when we finally entered the museum. We estimated spending 20 minutes there but emerged two hours later, barely having scratched the surface. As we braced against the bright bitter cold, we saw that Patricia’s rose had blown to the ground, its petals scattered. I watched as my three kids rushed to gather the pieces and return what was left of the bud to its proper place. They carefully dropped the loose white petals into the reflecting pool below. As I witnessed their compassion, I hoped that Patricia was looking down on this mom, thinking that maybe I’d done something right after all.
Up On The Roof 