New York City—American Red Cross, November, 2001
In November of 2001, I went down to NYC as a volunteer for the American Red Cross. How to describe the NYC experience other than to say it was interesting and intense? That latter two are the polite and short answers, but there is more.
I am glad I went and I feel it was right, for whatever reason, for me to be there. The guys I worked with were great and taught me a lot as we laughed together, a really great team. It showed me how good a working relationship could be.
While we were in NYC we received
full access badges to Ground “Hero,” which is what people in New York call the
site of the World Trade Center. I went twice, the second time getting right to
the edge of the pit. One guy called it looking into the jaws of hell. The
enormity of the destruction is incomprehensible, much different from what you
see on TV (which makes it all look like just another movie set). I visited a
little church just across the street that somehow survived the towers collapse
with not a touch of damage (the “miracle” church). The inside of the church was
almost completely covered with drawings and messages from people. The extent
and amount of the outpouring of people's expressions is as enormous and as
difficult to assimilate as the extent of the evil witnessed in the damage
outside. The juxtaposition of the two is
very thought provoking. I'm not sure I've quite processed it all yet. Nor do I
think the fireman I talked with have processed it either. They seemed
shell-shocked. The hardest job must have been the ambulance person, standing at
attention next to her stretcher. Do you hope for a recovery, to be busy and
involved, or do you not hope because that means another life lost will bring
sorrow to their family? How difficult to just stand by and wait.
Meanwhile, outside the church was a
quiet little cemetery full of headstones and trees. The trees’ branches still
hold trash from the collapse. The stones are so old (from 1700s) you cannot
read many of the names. As you look across that restful patch of ground in the
midst of the hustle of the city, you find yourself looking at a spot lit
backdrop of massive twists of steel and cement being demolished by construction
crews. Both people and machines look minuscule in comparisons to the enormous
piles they are working on removing.
And you know that most of the people
under the stones died quietly in their beds with their families near by and the
people beyond died horribly from evil caught unexpectedly in the midst of their
daily morning routines. And the names of the one are gone and the names of the
other may never be known. Both names put on stone, like Ozymandius, mean
nothing. The end result is the same.
What can each of us learn from this?
To be prepared for whatever comes in the next second, hour, day, or year. To
realize that evil is equally countered by good if we remember look for the
latter in the quiet corners. To believe that miracles can and will happen no
matter how bad things appear at first glance. To know that how we will be
remembered is by how we touch people today. It is people's memories of us and
our actions that will bring each of us true immortality, not our name on a
stone.
Most importantly, we should remember
not to seize the day or the hour, but to seize the moment and hold it tight for
it will be gone and replaced by we know not what. Each of us needs to keep
these moments to sustain us. As T.S. Elliot said in the appropriately titled
“The Waste Land:”
“These fragments I have shored
against my ruins…
Shantih”
By
Kathleen E. Rourke
December
2001
Kathleen Rourke is the Red Cross community volunteer leader in Tompkins County, Spiritual Care lead and Disaster Action Team member with more than 20 years of experience
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