The Powerful Grip of Tragedy

I would like to begin first off by saying there is no way possible I can create a story behind this photo, storytelling is easy, something in the human instinct makes sharing tales of personal triumph or misfortune simplistic at best. Never the less the visions that this man witnessed could never be put into words by someone such as I, the bone chilling images, I myself have only seen on television or the internet, he witnessed with his very own eyes. The screams of innocent men and women as they jumped from the towers, or scorched alive as they were trapped inside the burning structures, can never be washed from his memory. How could I ever be able to tell be able to tell his story? So therefore I refuse to, I could never do him the justice he deserves.

However what I can do is tell you what t his picture means to me and why when I look at it I feel proud to be born in America. Although 9/11 was a terrible tragedy like no other in American history I am often reminded how many braver Americans put their lives on the line and bonded together to save other human beings. The men and women of the New York police and fire department showed so much true courageous American spirit that when reminded of 9/11 although sad, I am remind why I am proud to be born in the United States. In such a severe time of pain and suffering for the American Society people often over look that in a time of great disparity the American people bonded together.

I was in 4^th grade when 9/11 occurred I was young and could barely understand what a terrorist attack truly consisted of. My parents tried their hardest to apply an understandable concept to the images I was seeing on T.V but I still couldn’t truly say I had a clear understanding, all I knew was people were sad, but every time I saw the powerful firemen and women marching across the scream towards danger I couldn’t help but feel admiration. My father was a police officer and I always thought it was cool to tell the other kids what his job was, but after 9/11 all I knew was that my dad must have been brave to have the same occupation as the men and women the television gave so much praise too.

When I see this picture I can only imagine the fire fighters face, although I cannot see his expression, or the sadness in his eyes, it’s almost as if I can place myself directly into his shoes, the feeling as his tattered boots sank into the soft soil and shrapnel, a frozen moment in time where a once massive monument was now reduced to the form of useless rubble and ash. The unmistakable pain in his heart however is what I can’t feel, I can never live the moments he lived or know for certain the thoughts he processed, however what I can do is tell him thank you. What 9/11 means to me, a tragic moment in American history, a reminder that no matter how invincible a country may seem, we’re never out of reach of the grip that is known as tragedy.