I am watching the memorial taking place in New York, New York. The names roll off the tongues of the family members as they read a litany of names, some of them saints, and all of them missed. There are names that connect with countries and continents near and far. For the most part the names are read in a rhythm that is governed by a need to be respectful.
There are those who, in the midst of sharing the names, reflect the hope secure in faith. There are others whose pain is still evident: the wound has not healed And a few for whom the wound seems to have festered. My heart breaks for them.
The media speak of the different groups who lost their lives on that day 10 years ago. We know the names of many of those in these groups, they are remembered for what they did and sometimes for who they were. Firefighters, Police, Clerics, and others who were in uniform are remembered for the profound bravery they displayed. Those that worked at the WTC are remembered, too.
As we think of all of those lost, I hope we remember others who wore different uniforms at Windows on the World, Wild Blue, and Greatest Bar on Earth. As well as those who kept the building clean and functioning well. Both they, and the folks whom they served, were working to provide their version of the American Dream for themselves and their loved ones.
We do not know the language the Falling Man heard when he dreamt the night before his death. We do not know what the waitress or the busboy heard when their parents spoke their name. We do not know if they lived in obscurity by default or by design.
We do know that they are gone and they are missed. They are remembered still.
Que descansen en paz/May they rest in Peace.