23 years later - broken and whole
Twenty-three years ago this morning, I heard the sound of a low-flying jet overhead as I awakened. Of course, I had no idea what that sound was to mean for those on board, for those at its painful destination, for the world. Or for the direction my life was to take. Working as a volunteer chaplain with the American Red Cross, St. Paul's Chapel, and the NYC Office of the Chief Medical Examiner was a great privilege that extended over the next six years. The attacks, the people, and the stories broke my heart, but they broke it open. I remember the chaos, fear, and uncertainty of that day, The terror from the sheer blue skies, not just from the morning attacks, but from the silence of grounded flights, punctuated by the intermittent scream of fighter jets patrolling unseen overhead. And I remember the faces of the people I met, family members searching for those they loved and lost, those who escaped with their lives, and those who came from every part of the United States and