5 Years Ago

Five years ago, I awoke to the sound of the phone. It was my Mother on the other end of the line telling me to turn on the television, something big was happening. It took my sleepy mind several minutes to grasp what I was seeing and I remember vaguely the words “World War III” coming from the somewhat frantic conversation I shared with my Mother that morning. What I saw that day, and in the newspapers the next morning sickened me. Images of people jumping from the burning towers were like a visceral punch in the gut to my 20 year old self. I bowed my head, closed my eyes from these horrible images and willed this to not have happened, but nothing could turn back time.

One image in particular struck me that next day. It was a small red-haired rag doll, nestled amidst piles of now useless paper, covered in ash and debris on the street below where the Towers used to stand. To me that image spoke of the futility of the life that was spent in those offices, amassing files and shuffling paper, only to have it blown out the building and rendered absolutely useless. All that work, and for what? On that day, no one spoke of missed work and deadlines. It was about family and loved ones and the sorrow of life lost. That doll seemed so out of place in that scene, yet so poignant. I later learned that this rag doll, Little Red, was created by Sarah Ferguson for her New York charity, Chances for Children. Their offices were located on the 101st floor of Tower One in donated space from Cantor Fitzgerald. This wasn’t the first time Little Red had been exposed to senseless acts of destruction.

Seven years prior, Little Red was present at the Oklahoma City Bombing. A young boy, badly burned was rescued out of what was left of the building. He was given one of Sarah Ferguson’s rag dolls for comfort while he was being treated by medical personnel. It is disheartening for me to see children so badly hurt by adults, and adult problems and the image of this doll resting in the ruins of an adult world brought that home to me once again.

I didn’t cry that day five years ago, but thinking of all the children who were affected that day, through no fault of their own, brings me to tears today. Perhaps it comes with age, a deepened sensitivity towards the frailty of life and time, which allowed me to gain perspective on that day. Whatever it is, my thoughts go out to all the families who lost a loved one that day, because every single person who lost their life that day was someone’s child.