I have heard several families via NPR today talk about the loved ones they lost during 9/11. I feel as though I might have a unique (and hopefully thoughtful) perspective.
A good bit of what the media is talking about now are those family members who have very understandable and serious concerns that remains still lie at the site.
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I entered what became known as "the pile" the early morning of September 12th to deliver medical aid and water to the firefighters, and ended up carrying remains that were found on the pile to the makeshift morgues that were located at either the Burger King or the basement of 1 Liberty Street. It was called "the pile" because it was a burned out wasteland 3 or 4 stories tall. It was blocks wide as I am sure you know. A one point I ventured north and smashed in the massive plate glass window of an abandoned Starbucks so I could "steal" their remaining ice to take back. I left them a note of apology.
Every time we found remains, no matter how small, it was like the most bittersweet miracle. They were treated with reverence. It was the world's largest haystack created from hatred and bigotry, and we had to find all the pieces of life and laughter and love it had destroyed. To bring them home to be with those who loved them.
We couldn't do it. We were tasked with the impossible. For the thousands of tons of steel and concrete and building detritus, we could never have found everything. I am sorry we couldn't. It was impossible.
To the families: I am so sorry. I have thought about you every day for 13 years. I wish I could have done the impossible and brought everyone home. I am sorry we failed.
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