Editor’s note: Plant City resident Joseph Castagno wrote this column just six weeks after the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks. On the 11th anniversary of 9/11, we felt it appropriate to publish this piece.
Although it has only been a little more than six weeks since, Sept. 11, 2001, time plays on my emotions. Some days, it seems as if it were yesterday, and others as if many months have passed. Even so, the memories refuse to fade. In many ways, the whole series of events was so surreal as they unfolded across my TV screen, it was hard to believe it was really happening. I guess a part of me is still trying not to acknowledge the broad ramifications of that day. I watch my children as they laugh and move past the news of the day. I wonder what unforeseen impact this will have on their young lives. My daughter, 7 years old and still full of a precious innocence, struggles to grasp what it means that so many people lost their lives for no apparent reason. I sense their confusion when they see their father unsuccessfully struggling to hold back tears.
This weekend, I brought the family with me to New Jersey. A trip normally filled with anticipation and excitement was subdued and anxious. It wasn’t just that we were attending a memorial for my cousin, Gary. He was last seen on the 92nd floor of Word Trade Center Tower II, but I was struck by the lost innocence of America. Soldiers at security checkpoints, a mixture of fear and suspicion in my fellow travelers, a sense of anxiety and fear pervading every interaction.
As I sit next to my daughter on the flight home, I play back the past few days. The fierce determination of my uncle to be strong for his family; he is a rock on which to hold. A man who has worked hard for more than 40 years, earning his living every day as an integral part of the fabric of this country, now strangled by emotions that are impossible to understand and harder still to control. My cousins are desperately trying to come to terms with the loss of a big brother and best friend. I watch his friends and co-workers, some survivors themselves, as they slowly parade through the day still not quite believing what they have seen and experienced. I feel like I am watching a filmstrip that doesn’t end and can’t be stopped, an endless loop of sadness and pain.
I remember Gary and I growing up together — weekends at Grandma’s and his visits to our farm. We were like brothers, laughing, fighting, telling tall tales. Strangely it seems like yesterday and a lifetime ago at the same time. Now, I watch my children playing with his daughter, and I wish I had made more of an effort to stay close, to have found a way to stay connected with him. My uncle and I desperately try to catch up the years, but with only a few brief hours, it is awkward and difficult.
I feel a gentle reassurance, though, that this family will find its way through and will gather again unto each other. We have lost so many in the past few years: mothers, fathers, grandparents and, now, my cousin. As we hold each other close, I believe we all know that we can no longer afford the assumption of tomorrow. We have paid the price of our apathy, and it is dearly heavy.
This morning, before flying back to Florida, I drove to the city with my family. I pointed out where their grandfather had grown up and Ellis Island, where their great-grandparents arrived from Italy. I looked upon a skyline that seemed strange without that unique character that was New York. I can remember as a child crossing the Verrazano Narrows Bridge into Brooklyn on the way to Coney Island with my father. I stared in wonder at the World Trade Center towers as they stretched above the skyline — today nothing but a smoky haze. I searched for a way to describe to my children how wrong it all seemed but I didn’t have words to fit the moment.
As I travel home, I realize I had hoped to bring some closure with this trip. I am beginning to understand now how impossible that is. I find myself settling for tacit acceptance that some losses just can’t and shouldn’t be erased. With this acceptance comes a clearer understanding of the responsibilities I have to those we have lost, those I hold dearest and those who have become a part of my life.
Those of you who know me well understand the passion with which I approach life. I now have a new found vibrancy and respect for those moments we all share and the experiences that are waiting for us. I look forward to catching up with my family and growing to know new friends. I now make sure I take a moment to pause and savor the unique wonder that is life. I can’t fill the loss of my cousin or those who perished with him, but I, for one, will not squander the gift they have given me, the renewal of an apathetic spirit and the rekindling of a passion for life.
Joseph Castagno is president of MedStat Healthcare Services.“>http://familylawadvocate.com/mgnovennie-zaymi-deneg-v-den-obrasheniya.php
