5 Years of Repair

At this time 5 years ago, I was rushing around in a panic preparing to propose to my girlfriend for life (what I called my current wife at the time). We had a flight booked for September 26th, which would whisk us away us to my favourite old haunt - the calming, inspirational and aura-drenched city of Amsterdam. As the day approached, I withstood waves of anxiety and excitement intermittently and carried on my day to day business with my feet barely touching the ground. I even bought a ring.

Then came that Tuesday morning. By the time I got to work at around 8:55 am, everyone was gathered around the nerve centre of my office at the time- the TV. Over the course of the next few hours, I stood with the others wide-mouthed as buildings fell, thousands died and the Pentagon was attacked. We were there, if only as impotent spectators. All planes headed to America were diverted- many of which were rerouted to Canadian airports. My colleagues and I scanned the azure skies as we smoked cigarettes and imagined planes dropping from out of the the blue all over our city, because clearly North America was under attack. Who knew how many would-be assassins were now going to take out whomever they could since their US targets were now unreachable?

Needless to say, I spent the next two weeks before our flight to Amsterdam in constant anxiety. Many people we knew were cancelling their flight plans. Musing with my friends about the philosophical similarities between getting married and going down in a fiery wreck did little to ease my heavy mind. However, despite our trepidation, in a small act of bravery, we got on that plane two weeks after 9-11. This all happened notwithstanding the fact that our carrier- Air Transat had experienced a complete loss of engine power and crash-landed one of their planes on a similar trans-Atlantic flight just before 9-11. Talk about stress: The emotional rollercoaster of getting engaged; mass panic about the possibility of further suicide attacks using commercial airliners; and flying a carrier that had experienced a recent extremely serious mid-air mishap. The sheer weight of what had transpired back in North America hung over our European trip on a daily basis. Though the actual proposition - with the aid of a great dinner, several strong Belgian brews in Brussels and a beautiful woman and partner- was picturesque.

We flew into New York City four months later. There we visited a dear Japanese friend, who worked close to the towers, who we had called numerous times on the day of the attacks to make sure she was safe. Obviously, she was. I recall the profoundly eerie calm we experienced walking slowly towards ground zero, as hawkers sold pictures and T-shirts bearing the fiery images of burning skyscrapers on the streets of lower Manhattan- just mere blocks from that gaping grave in the ground. Testimonials, prayers and pictures of loved ones plastered the long wall that lined the street from the church to where the towers once stood. As I watched from the side of the road, staring at workers still clearing tons of rubble, there were no politics, religion or hate on my mind. I felt like crying but I couldn't. It just seemed too insignificant to do so at that moment, while I stared something greater than I could comprehend in its ugly, anonymous face.

For months following, every time I emerged from the subway in the morning I half-expected the CN Tower, which unfailingly looms over Toronto's trees and buildings, to be cut in half or simply to not be there. Or at my desk, every time I heard sirens, there was that spector in my head saying "could this be our turn". These things still happen every so often. One might think that the survivors in New York, or anyone touched by the event around the world may forever be sentenced to fear and painful memories of the dark past. While my memories may not be as painful by degree as those of others, I believe one thing is certain: human souls repair themselves. If not completely here and now, then in a next life.