How time flies

It's been eight years since 9/11. Kind of hard for me to believe that it's been that long. It's interesting to me how events hit people so differently. 9/11 hit me really hard, though I don't know anyone that lives in New York City, nor have I ever lived there. But even so I still felt a deep need to go to New York City. Not Pennsylvania, not Washington DC, but just to New York City, specifically to ground zero. I wanted to go back right after it happened, but couldn't make it until a few years later. But the need (and it was a need for me) to go back never lessened. I didn't know why. I didn't know what I was looking for. I couldn't explain why I needed to go there. I was able to go there a few years after 9/11. I timed it so that I was there over 9/11 so I could go to the ceremony, thinking that maybe I needed to pay my respects. So I went to ground zero on 9/11. Even though it was 4-5 years later, there were still so many people who came. During the ceremony I walked all the way around ground zero, listening to people remembering those who had died. All the way around the fence were flowers, pictures, banners, tributes to those who died that day. I listened, read, cried but still felt that there was something I was missing. The need that brought me to New York was still there. After the ceremony, I was walking back to the main street and I came across a small church. I can't remember the name of it now. There was a small cemetery in the back and I think it was built back in the 1800's. It stood less than a block away from where the Twin Towers had stood. I stood outside the back entrance and looked toward ground zero. As I stood there, I heard a minister or priest (I honestly don't even remember what denomination the church was) telling someone that he had been standing in that very spot when he had seen the airplane hit the first tower. He said that his first reaction was that they must be filming some action movie. Then he saw the second plane hit, and he knew it was not a movie. He watched the first tower fall and the rubble came toward the church. He went back inside and closed the door. He said that many people came to the church that day, trying to escape. Even though this small church stood less that a block away from the towers, with all the devastation and commotion all around, the church didn't suffer even a broken window.

I stood for a few minutes, then went inside the church. Inside the back door was a little alcove that opened up into the main part of the church. The alcove was not much bigger than a bathroom really. As soon as I crossed the threshold (and I mean that literally) I knew in my heart that this was the place. This church that I didn't even know existed until that day was what I had needed to find, was why I had come to New York. The feeling, the energy in that church was unlike any I had felt before or since. There was a feeling of peace, comfort, solace and safety that I've never experienced before. After 9/11, I did go to several memorials, different churches and venues. But none touched my heart, my soul like the energy in that church, even years after the fact.

All around the perimeter of the church were memorials. All of them had been done by children. I went around and looked at them all. Then I sat in one of the back pews and soaked up the energy. People came and left. I sat thru a sermon. I was probably there for 2-3 hours, crying the majority of that time. Even today, remembering the tears welled up again. I left the church knowing that I could leave New York City then and there and would be okay. The need was gone. I still wonder why I felt such a need to go back, and wonder if I would have found the peace somewhere else in New York City. Or was it that church that I was being pulled toward, that particular place that I needed to go to. Could I have been drawn toward a place I didn't even know existed? Did I know on some level what I would find there? I don't know. I'm just glad I followed my heart to that church.