Published on August 31, 2010

As we are approaching another anniversary of September 11th, I would like to share a beautiful remembrance that Kaena has just sent me:

Remembering September 11th
By Kaena Kirk

July in New York City is hot. On days the sun shines clear from the sky it soaks into the pavement and turns right around to waft back up in hot, humid waves. It was one of these days that my 3 year old son, York, and I were on a mission for a smoothie. The heat wrapped around our ankles making our short journey sluggish. At each crosswalk we shaded our eyes from the harsh glare and my son squinted up at me with always the same question, "Are we there yet?"

"Almost, sweetie." The promise of an ice cold smoothie keeping both of us going.

As we moved slowly up East 85th street York stopped abruptly at the firehouse, one we had passed many times before and whose engines were the benefactors of many waves and gazes of amazement as they "broomed" through our neighborhood. York just stood there not saying a word, a very rare occasion. I said something like, "Yup, thats the fire station," and tugged his hand to keep walking. He did not move from his spot. I followed his rapt gaze to the pictures held in glass outside the station.

"Who are those guys?" York asked.

"Those are firemen who died fighting a big fire," I replied carefully. His eyes widened." Died?" He asked with a huge question mark. I took a deep breath and explained, "The fire was too big and the firemen couldn't fight it. The firemen died and went to Heaven."

"Heaven?" Another big question mark.

"Everybody believes different things about heaven. Mommy thinks its the most beautiful place up way past the clouds."

"I think its on that cloud right there," he said looking to the sky,"that looks like a nice one."

I agreed. It did look like a nice one.

He looks back to the pictures, "Tell me their names."

I tried to keep my voice steady as I read their names, one by one, and pointed to their pictures, "Martin, Thomas, Michael, Vincent, Walter, Thomas, Gregory, Dennis and Thomas." As I read, we both stared at their faces and I felt these fallen heroes thick in the air around us, above us and beneath us. All at once sadness joined the wonder and innocence in York's eyes.

"Mommy, I miss those firefighters."

"Me too," I whispered through tears and I tightened my grip on his hot, beautiful hand.

Miraculously, I was not personally connected to anyone who lost their lives on September 11, 2001. Walking the streets in the aftermath amidst the sickly smell that will forever live in my sense memory and the candlelit, flower strewn memorials I was devastated. But mostly, I was numb. I looked but I did not feel. It would take 9 years for the feelings to come standing on East 85th Street reading out these mens names to my little love. So, now that we've been introduced, Martin, Thomas, Michael, Vincent, Walter, Thomas, Gregory, Dennis and Thomas, I want to thank you. One little boy and his mommy never knew you but will never forget you.