The "Band of Brothers
Many police officers, like firefighters and rescue workers "indeed, likeeveryone atthe site "share a unique and unbreakable bond. Being together seems to provide a frame, a container for the overflow.
When a small group of us walked toward the site earlier in the afternoon and I caught my first glimpse of the inferno, I gasped. My feet stuttered in mid-stride and I stopped. In milliseconds, one PSO's large, firm arm came around my shoulder, pressing me in close. "Hey, doc, I'm right here. We both prayed and we both cried quietly. There is enormous strength in knowing that the person next to you is truly, in every sense of the word, right there, taking your back, thinking of your safety, your well-being, ready to do whatever it takes to help, protect and defend you. Is it insane to say that with all the obvious human frailty and vulnerability around me, I never felt so safe?
I was made aware of the attack with a phone call from a friend. Her voice trembled. "My brother is down there. Do you think he's all right? My stomach tightened. My breathing became shallow. What had happened to her brother, my friend? I started to shake. "What do you mean, is he all right? What are you talking about? She urged, "Turn on the television! As I did, the second airplane hit. Soon, the first tower collapsed. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. What else could I say?
I ran outside, searching for friends and neighbors, scanning the skies. I knew we would never be the same. We would never feel the same. My instinct was to huddle. To seek comfort and provide comfort. To reassure and re-secure.
That is what I'm doing today with these officers. We are here, working, yes, but also huddling. I admit it. I'm here to help. But, they are, in fact, helping me. They fill me with hope. They shore me up. They remind me of goodness. I have nothing but gratitude and love for them.
But later, when we're off-duty, when we're home alone, or holding our children, or trying to sleep "the flood gates open.
The Long Ride North
One of the officers and administrators of the peer support program is a neighbor of mine. He generously offers me a ride out of the city. As we walk out of the building, it's dark. I forgot that the ReserveBuilding was operating on generators. There's no electricity here. There's not only a police presence, there's a military presence, young, stoic, serious men who lend an other-worldly quality to the whole scene. Am I on a movie set? The pulverized concrete dust, the broken windows, the locked businesses seem ghostly at night.
We walk three blocks to the car. He offers me water, cookies. He is especially kind and makes sure I'm all right. It has been a long day. I am equally concerned for him. He looks so tired. He is on over-drive. He drives too fast as soon as we hit more open road. I look back at the ground-lit smoke where the twin towers used to be. I feel like a little girl looking out the back window of an old 60's station wagon and I have this strange urge to wave my fingers, say goodbye.
There will be a melt-down from this. We are all anticipating it. Not right away. But the emotional fallout is coming and it will be staggering. When the worst is over, but the future is unsure and we are feeling so vulnerable, what do we do? What do we say?
If today is any indication, we do and say exactly what we are doing and saying. We are each picking up a pail in our own way, offering words of love and understanding, being supportive and then being supported. We keep it simple, keep it in the moment, keep it concrete. We pace and lead one another one small, tentative, frightened step at a time. If we need to cry, we cry. If we need to be angry or afraid, so be it. There are good reasons for it all. The most basic rules apply here.
From this room, from these streets I see us doing this right. No question in my mind. There is so much empathy, kindness, and strength in the face of such overwhelming destruction and trauma. These are the finest, bravest, most dedicated human beings I've ever seen in my life. I think of one lone police officer we passed on our way out of Manhattan. He stood alone, on a dark corner, eyes ahead and sideways at the same time. We slowed down and asked him how he was doing, if he needed any water, food, support. He approached tentatively, saw that we were with NYPD, then noticeably relaxed, "My partner's on a personal. He's coming right back. He gave a weak smile. We told him to take care and left, but I can't get his young, sweet, brave face out of my mind. The last time I can remember wearing a face like that myself was when I was a very little girl and a hurricane had caused a blackout. I had to walk down the hallway to the bathroom at night and there was no light. I was too scared to even call out. I decide to include him specifically in my prayers.
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