Millions of steps before you tread up and sometimes down those stairs. We had the luxury of admiring the architecture. Did she even get a chance to do so? We saw some of what she went through. We missed her name on the banister outside.
Billions of people have looked up from the ground appearing as tiny specks to those above. We marveled at the size and trekked our way up to the pedestal and marveled at the skyline so changed.
There’s no count to the people who have thought of that day. There’s no way I can describe the feeling of standing in those spots remembering all those images in my mind and looking around knowing that people around me experienced those.
It’s beautifully heartbreaking seeing the pieces that survived, although beaten and broken, alongside all those that were lost to this world on that day.
It’s overwhelming and somber. It shouldn’t be there. It is. It has to be.
People need to see it. Even if they don’t have the words to describe. It’s the internal conversation. The hand that reaches out to grab yours as you take it all in. The overwhelming sense of loss that encompasses you.
It’s seeing New York as a great granddaughter of an immigrant to Ellis Island, as a tourist to The Statue of Liberty, and as a human being at the 9/11 Memorial and Museum.