Lessons of 9-11

After twenty-five anniversaries of the tragedy of 9-11, we have absorbed the shock and horror of that day, although maybe not entirely. We have responded, as America does, with military might and resolve. We have played back the video of the burning and penetrated buildings, the fireball, the falling bodies, and the utter and gray destruction that fell from the skies. We have not forgotten, but what have we learned?

For me, the 911 lessons have woven their way into my brain, my heart, my being. They are not lessons of building construction or engineering. They are not lessons of military or political strategy—and all its messiness. They are not matters of security measures we have since enacted at airports or even the economic fallout from that day. They are lessons of the human, of the collective, of the remaining mysteries of life.

After all these years, I’m still struck by the randomness of decisions and happenstance against the human toll. The sliding-door moments where, in an instant of a casual decision or a closing elevator door, the course of life and death changes. Those individuals who happened to work on the floors above the entry points vs. those who worked below. Those below had hope in this god-awful moment, those above had some clarity about their inevitable demise. The accident of the employee who happened to be late that day or decided to drop their daughter at school vs. those who arrived early to take a scheduled conference call. Some survived, others perished.

These small, innocuous but life-altering decisions defy logic even twenty-five years later.

After all these years, it’s the voicemails, from the planes or the offices to loved ones that prove when all else fails, we love. We want to express that love one last time. I have a cherished voicemail of my own mother expressing her love and hope for the future before her passing that I listen to when I want to hear the warmth of her voice and the essence of who she was in thirty seconds of recorded word.

After all these years, it’s the heroism of those layered in firefighting gear going up the stairs instead of down that pierces my heart. It’s the urgency of the voices crackling over the emergency radios trying to make sense of what they were witnessing and how to help. The random acts of kindness – the water bottle for the woman’s eyes burning and smeared in gray matter, the borrowed pair of shoes for the woman trying to navigate across the glass-covered avenue, the carrying, piggyback of a man to safety.

There were so many acts of generosity to each other in these moments of terror and confusion, and in the face of unfathomable evil.

And then there is the September 12 lesson. How the country came together regardless of political persuasion or gender identity or economic class. We were Americans, bonded together by shared values and against a common enemy—for at least a few days.

So, we learned that life is precious but random, love is the most important and enduring emotion, and standing up for each other is possible, heartwarming, and even lifesaving.

But do we live these lessons?

It’s a reminder summed up in one line of Mary Oliver’s poem “The Summer Day”

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?