Umbrellas in hand, the students and I took the Metro to the Pentagon 9/11 memorial. We scattered ourselves across the site in clusters, some listening to the audio tour on their phones. I entered by way of the age wall that soon was taller than me. I turned to the right and the vista opened. As I walked I traveled forward in time from the birth year of the oldest (1930) to the youngest (1998) victim. The name of each victim is engraved in the stainless steel casing of a polished granite plinth suspended over a pool of running water. Flowers had been left on some of the graves, and others were bound by wide white ribbons. The benches of plane passengers point inward, of Pentagon workers outward.
I heard my footsteps on the gravel surface and turned my head at the noise of jets passing overhead. I was reminded of the power of the machine to carry us up into the sky, or deep into the grave. The sun came out and the beads of water on the benches evaporated. We stood in the shade cast by crape myrtle trees. In class today we talked about why it took a tragedy to unite a nation, and it's a good question for us in a city full of memorials. As the nation remembers 9/11 this weekend, I will remember little Dana Falkenberg and the 184 lives lost here on that sunny September morning ten years ago.
Pentagon Memorial
I would think that going there so close to 9/11 would be a rich experience--and your post portrays that with photos and text. I went there one night late--it was just freezing (January)--but I was impressed with what I saw. In Arlington Cemetary, I believe there is another memorial as well, but I could be wrong. I'll have to go and look at my photos.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the post--
E.
Thanks for the moving post on a day that will never be forgotten.
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