#NeverForget

On the morning of September 11, 2001, and for a period of time that was either hours or an eternity- I can’t remember- we didn’t know where my brother was.

We knew he was somewhere in lower Manhattan, where he attended Stuyvesant High School. Like any regular 14 year old kid, most of the time he’d go right to school in the morning, and *other* times he’d run around with friends in the neighborhood first, or play basketball in a park close to the World Trade Center. It was pretty uncommon to see Jacob without a basketball in his hand.

As we learned about the Twin Towers falling, and the other devastating events of the day unrolled, New Yorkers all over the world and our global neighbors watched, helplessly, as our TV screens and windows showed ash white to dark gray skies. As small black dots representing smoke-choked humans were seen jumping from windows down to piles of rubble below, gasping in midair for a last relieving breath.

All the phone lines were down or clogged. There was no getting through. Via AOL instant messenger, I chatted with my mother.

Where is Jacob? What’s happening? Who would do this? Have you heard from him? Have you heard from the school? I saw on the news they evacuated Stuyvesant and are using it as a temporary morgue. Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?

First responders- my friends and family- leapt into action. Too many of those heroes lost their lives almost immediately. Others died later, from complications due to the air quality. Thick, dusty air.

The dust: building debris, chemicals, smoke, human bodies, and the loss of innocence.

We sat inches from our screens, trying with all our might to pick him out of the desperately fleeing crowds, bravely walking over the Brooklyn Bridge not knowing if it would be attacked or collapse beneath them on the journey.

My brother and I were close as kids, though he had his friends and I had mine, and sometimes he would refuse my overly-enthusiastic hugs. We laughed about our differences; I was a Barbie and he was a baller. I was dramatic and he was so easygoing. Always so even keeled.

When I’d gone away to camp, my parents helped him to write me letters, sharing updates about the trips his day camp group had gone on or what his new personal best was in Brooklyn driveway basketball.

During those junior high and high school years, though, we had less direct contact and “got busy.” This is something I still hold guilt about.

I was involved with a serious boyfriend and my theater program. Jacob wrote for The Spectator, his school paper, and was a star basketball player with his school team, the Police Athletic League, and the St. Athanasius church league, coached by my (since-deceased) friend John Palmiero (JP), whose birthday was September 11.

I’d sent JP an IM at midnight to wish him a happy birthday, and he replied from his computer at Dartmouth that afternoon saying it wasn’t going to be a celebration this year, but thank you. I messaged him back to say I would always celebrate him no matter what, and I always do.

And then, more to celebrate... almost? Jacob is spotted, we think, we hope, with his friend Josh Ross and Josh’s father, David, walking across the Brooklyn bridge! Is that him? It must be.

Bargaining. Dear Lord. If it could only be him. If it could be my little brother, that long-limbed figure in a sick Where’s Waldo scene, I would be closer. I would make sure. I wouldn’t let the time go by without attending his games and staying in touch and making sure he knew that he was the most important person in my life. That it would always be us two- “Bestest Buddies.”

Begging. Just please make it home. Please be able to breathe. Please don’t be traumatized, watching people jump. Please don’t be lost. Please don’t be in the lobby of Tower 1 getting Gatorade. Please don’t be buried under towering piles of tower debris. Please come home.

Confirmation had to wait. The phone lines were still not working. Couldn’t get through to anyone, anywhere.

An innumerable stack of dark and desperate hours passed, during which my friends and neighbors got word that their loved ones were safe, and also that some weren’t.

Confirmation, though, did come. In response to my prayers to any god that would hear me, the phone rang. Jacob HAD been on the Brooklyn Bridge with Josh and David Ross! They'd made it safely across and to the Ross household in Brooklyn Heights.

Celebration! Tears of total undoing now mixed with tears of exultation.

Jacob Smith is alive and well, successful and healthy except for some asthmatic issues likely caused by that thick, devastating air. He still plays basketball. He’s still easygoing. So’s his wife.

Josh Ross is getting married this coming weekend, too! He grew up to be such an awesome man.

Josh’s parents, Marlene and David, got to keep their son that day. So did my parents. We were the lucky ones. We know it.

We’re lucky to have more time together, time to never ever take for granted.

And there are other lessons learned, too, and we’re lucky for those.

We’re lucky to have been born and raised in New York City, where diversity is as much of a part of the weave of our fabric as good pizza (I don’t want to hear it, Chicago). We’re EXTRA lucky that we didn’t let this horrific event steal those values from us.

Others lost compassion. They lost vision. They lost sight of the humanity of their neighbors. They grew hard. I stayed soft in my heart (while equally suspicious of everyone- hey, I’m still a New Yorker).

When I saw people who looked like me say horrible things to people who looked different, I spoke up. I’d say “we don’t treat people like that here.”

When I take my shoes off at the airport, I don’t mind, really, even though it makes wearing sandals awkward.

But I do mind that, 17 years later, we are still jaded and suspicious first. We’re leaving valuable, powerful, meaningful connections on the table when we excuse ourselves from conversations with people in other countries. With different beliefs. This is not the reason we were served some of the hardest lessons we all have ever had to learn.

Listen, I get it, America. We’ll never get back the lives lost or the innocence surrendered. I will always be in mourning on this day. We may never totally lose our disappointment or anger. Our world changed forever on this day 17 years ago, but we don’t have to let it change us.

Or, we can! We can let it change us into more purposeful connectors.

We may always be skeptical by nature, but we can be inclusive by intention.

We can keep changing the world the way WE say it should be. We can keep reaching out and lifting up our neighbors. Those on our blocks and those across the world.

We can still stand for liberty and justice for all. Real justice. The kind that’s in our constitution. You remember the US Constitution, don’t you? I do. I carry a copy with me in my bag.

I am personally committed to being mindful of practicing communication that brings us together rather than dividing us. This is my commitment to making the change a positive one.

If you #VerbYourValues as a practice, this looks like: To Welcome, To Embrace, To Hear.

We can do that on LinkedIn. We can do that when we question our unconscious biases- our first responses to people who look different or have a different religion or ethnic background.

Be here to teach, be here to learn, be here to listen, and most of all, be here to connect. Beyond job leads, beyond business deals, connect.

Sometimes, when we #SayThingsBetter, it doesn't mean we "get" something better out of it. It means we can be better. Make the world smaller. Make it better. Make time for the people closest to you. Make time for the people who are the farthest away, too. Understand each other better. That’s our privilege, our blessing, our lesson, our gift. Never forget.

#NeverForget