August 9, 2016
In the wake of 9/11, I was in turmoil, much like many others. While the most profound scars were borne by those who lost family members or were first responders, the impact of that day rippled through all of us.
At just 23, I was newly married and working in an office near Grand Central Station. The day of the attacks was surreal. Upon hearing that planes had struck the World Trade Center, I instinctively bolted from my desk, my mind racing with fear. The scene outside was haunting—people crying, ash covering faces as I made my way downtown. Once I reached Brooklyn, the acrid smell of smoke lingered in the air, a reminder of the tragedy unfolding just across the river. In the days that followed, we were inundated with missing person flyers plastered on walls and subway stations, as we all tried to navigate a new sense of “normal.”
Returning to that normalcy was more challenging than I anticipated. I’ve always had a tendency towards anxiety, and after 9/11, my panic attacks escalated. I felt shaken, traumatized, and anxious about what might lie ahead. The world seemed on the verge of disaster, a sentiment I mirror today with the rise of mass shootings, acts of terror, and societal discord. This year has been particularly overwhelming, and as a mother, I find myself deeply concerned about the world my children will inherit.
The weight of these thoughts has been heavy; I’ve found myself crying, losing sleep, and feeling constantly on edge. Sometimes, the emotions remind me of how I felt post-9/11—the hopelessness, the sense that calamity was imminent.
But then, I recall the words of my grandfather, who was 90 when I visited him shortly after the attacks. He passed away the following year, and I cherish that visit. It was evening, and like clockwork, the news was on, showing endless images of the catastrophe. Overwhelmed with emotion, I struggled to keep my composure.
Seeing my distress, my grandfather, who was hard of hearing and battling a bit of dementia, placed his gentle hand on my shoulder and urged, “Lily, you can’t allow this tragedy to control your life. Focus on your family, your friends, and the things that matter most to you.” Despite my silence, he sensed the turmoil that had taken hold of me. His words offered me permission to move forward, to stop letting grief paralyze me.
Having endured the Great Depression and losing family in the Holocaust, my grandfather understood the cruelty of life. Yet, he also recognized the importance of resilience and the value of cherishing what truly matters. He taught me that while we can’t ignore the world’s darkness, we must also nurture the light in our lives.
Taking his advice is a work in progress. The world feels increasingly fractured, and I feel a responsibility to witness its pain while also striving to spread positivity. This balance requires setting boundaries—sometimes, I need to step back from the news or avoid distressing articles that flood my social media feed.
Above all, I focus on appreciating the beautiful life right in front of me—my children, my partner, my family, and friends. They are what truly matters, and I strive to honor those relationships.
I often find myself missing my grandparents, wishing I could discuss today’s challenges with them, seeking their insights on whether my worries are justified. I imagine sitting in their old living room, the news playing softly in the background, while savoring a bowl of my grandma’s soup.
As I reflect on their legacy, I realize how much better our world could be if everyone embraced my grandfather’s wisdom—if we all chose to shut out negativity and instead, celebrate the people who matter most, living lives centered around kindness and love.
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In summary, life after 9/11 taught me the importance of resilience and cherishing the relationships that ground us. By focusing on what truly matters, we can navigate the chaos of the world with grace and compassion.