Dear Igor . . . the last name on the list
Time after time, I have stood on the virtual doorsteps of people in the middle of lives parallel to my …
Time after time, I have stood on the virtual doorsteps of people in the middle of lives parallel to my …
What I remember about the morning of September 11 is how blue the sky was above the Twin Towers on my TV screen. And, I remember the feeling of revulsion so familiar to me from growing up in a tiny country where every day is an anniversary of some atrocity.
Until that morning, I had taken for granted the sense of security I felt as an immigrant who had traded in Northern Ireland for the United States. Foolishly, I had too quickly dropped my guard, almost forgetting anything can happen. I no longer felt the need to reassure myself that the sound of a car backfiring on the freeway was not a gunshot, that a clap of Monsoon thunder was not a bomb timed to go off in the heart of a village on the busiest day of the year, that a shopping bag left behind on the bus was not packed with explosives.
As her T-shirt reminds me, “good things will come.” Soon, I hope. It is my darling girl’s birthday today, and …
Flanked by row upon row of flagpoles set five feet apart, we can stretch out our arms to touch two lives at …