I got up, just like I do every
September 11th, and looked outside.
I like rainy days, over cast
days, hot days, cloudy days, hazy days, every day other than the one I
that is forever seared into my brain.
I got up this morning early,
before the sun had come up, and stepped outside. Fifteen years ago I did the
same thing, heading out of the house before the sun had come up to do my tour
of duty as a city-election supervisor for the NYPD. That morning the air was
cool and crisp, a nice respite from the dog days of summer we had just gone
through.
As the sun came up over Brooklyn,
the darkness was chased away by shades of gold, and red and orange. The rising
sun turned the once black sky into a majestic blue, unmarred by any clouds. It
was a rich shade of blue that I will never forget, a color that looked as if it had been pulled directly from God’s pallet.
Had I seen it before? Probably,
but before September 11th it meant nothing. Now, I will take the
image to my grave.
So it was with trepidation that I
stepped outside, feeling the coolness of the air. As I grudgingly watched, sipping
my coffee, the sky once again began its transformation, chasing away the
blackness. As the sun took hold, the dew on the blades of grass were
transformed in to a field of sparking diamonds. Off in the distance the fog
rolled across the tops of the corn fields. It was a scene that, on 364 other
days, would be breathtaking in its scope and beauty. But this was day 365.
As I watched the sun rise, the
sky once again has turned blue and, try as I might, I can’t find a single cloud
in the sky.
As I write this, I watch the
clock, ticking off in my head mentally where I was on that fateful morning. My
travels will take my partner and I through the streets of Brooklyn to the hell
that was Manhattan on the morning of September 11th. Our
conversation will go from typical morning banter, laughs as we search for the
elusive ‘Vote Here – Aqui’ signs, which signaled our latest election poll target, to hearing the
first calls over our portable radio, and, after realizing we had been attacked,
heading in to Ground Zero, unaware of what we would face when we arrived and
saying goodbye to one another, just in case.
In just under a half hour from
now the 1st plane will have struck the North Tower….. and so the
memories will all come flooding back.
My partner and I were lucky that
day. We were spared the fate that so many others faced, due in no small part to
an elusive pack of cigarettes.
Today I mourn for my friends,
co-workers, and all those lost, not just at the World Trade Center, but at the
Pentagon and in the skies above Pennsylvania as well. I remember the bravery
that came through in the days and months after the attack; my heart beaming with
pride just because I was lucky enough that God choose me to be a member of the
greatest police department in the world, the NYPD. And I will forever carry in my heart and mind
the Department motto: Fidelis Ad Mortem (Faithful Unto Death)
But I also mourn for those who
died on the other September 11th Attack. And just as I will not forget the names of
Moira Smith, John Coughlin, Joe Vigiano, Rodney Gillis and all the other
members of the NYPD who died that day, I will also not forget the names: Christopher
Stevens, Sean Smith, Ty Woods and Glen Doherty. Nor will I forget those who,
laying aside everything else, rushed in to save them, accepting that it might
be their last day as well.
Those of us who survive such things
are torch bearers for the real heroes, the men and women who selflessly gave their
lives for their fellow man. We must never forget them and we must never let
their deaths be in vein.
So, today I will mourn, as I do
every September 11th. I will thank God for saving me and my partner that day,
thank him for having given me the opportunity to be a part of something so much
greater than myself and to be able to share my story, so that the true heroes
are never forgotten. On November 8th, 2016, I will honor those lost in Benghazi, making sure that they are Never Forgotten.
Someone recently asked me if I
thought we had learned anything from the attack. Sadly, the answer to that question is a resounding no. Just
like the warnings, the lessons are all there, we have just ignorantly closed the book. Blithely
choosing to bury our heads in the sands of political correctness; believing
that the old Beatles song ‘Love Is All You Need’ is the answer to all our ills.
It isn’t. You don’t have to agree with me, but my opinions are based on cold
hard fact, not fiction or personal desires.
God bless you all and may God
bless America.
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