Between the Blinks Supplemental

From A to Z (Fridays with Andrew Zagelbaum, OD)

What I Can Remember

I was young enough on September 11, 2001 that my memories of that day come in pieces. I remember enough to know where I was and to have certain images that have stuck with me, but not enough to recreate the day from beginning to end. Some of what I remember is probably my own memory, while other parts have undoubtedly been filled in over the years by conversations with my family, television footage, and the stories that followed.

Growing up on Long Island made 9/11 feel incredibly close. Manhattan wasn't some distant place we watched on television. It was right there for me. People commuted into the city every morning, families had relatives working there, and seemingly everyone knew someone who was affected in one way or another. I was too young to fully appreciate the weight of that at the time, but as I've gotten older, I've understood more of what the adults around me must have been feeling that day.

One of the connections to 9/11 that has stayed with my family came afterward. My grandfather and uncle built the FDNY Memorial Wall in Manhattan honoring the firefighters who lost their lives that day. More than two decades later, that wall is still there, across from the World Trade Center site, with the names of the 343 FDNY members who died on September 11.

As a kid, I don't think I could really comprehend what it meant that they had been involved in building it. At that age, you understand that something is important because the adults around you tell you it is, but understanding why often comes much later. Now, there's something difficult to put into words about knowing that a piece of my family's work became part of the way New York remembers those firefighters.

September 11 is also one of those dates that reminds me how strange memory can be. There are people older than me who can tell you exactly where they were when they first heard the news, what they were doing, and who they called. There are people only a few years younger who have no personal memory of the day at all. I seem to fall somewhere in between. I have fragments, feelings, and a few details, with a much better understanding today of something I couldn't possibly have understood then.

Every year, the distance from that day gets a little greater. There are now adults who weren't alive when it happened, and eventually firsthand memories of September 11 will belong to fewer and fewer people. That's part of why the physical reminders matter. The memorials, the names, the stories families continue to tell, and the traditions that have survived make sure remembering doesn't depend entirely on whether someone was old enough to remember the day themselves.

I may not remember every detail of September 11, 2001. But I remember enough, and as I've gotten older, I've learned what the pieces I do remember actually mean.

Twenty-five years later, I think remembering is still something we owe to the people who can't.

Have a great weekend.

Andrew Zagelbaum, OD