In 2001, Rhett and his soon-to-be-bride, Erica lived a mere two blocks from the World Trade Center. Like thousands of others that fateful day in September, they were awaken by the impact of the planes hitting the towers. With just the clothes on their backs, they literally ran for their very lives as one by one the skyscrapers fell.
We all make split-second decisions in our lives everyday with little consequence. Their decision to run like hell instead of hide in the basement of their apartment building probably saved their lives. It would be the second time he escaped death, first at his own hand, now at the hands of religious extremist.
The Atlantic Monthly has featured Rhett's journal entries from September 11th and the two chaotic days after as part of their ten year anniversary commemoration. It's remarkable reading.
I've never lived in New York City, but have had an emotional attachment to that particular concrete jungle since the first time I walked it's dirty streets at the tender age of 13. Watching the terrifying events of 9/11 was devastating. Clearly not as devastating as those who witnessed first hand the horrors of that day, but still my heart shattered. I couldn't stop crying.
I'm crying now.
Reading his account conjured up a lot of that oppressed heartbreak, but sharing these links on the social networks sparked a wonderfully cathartic conversation with faraway friends on Facebook. So for that, and innumerable other things, I owe a debt of thanks to Mr. Miller.
You can read his Atlantic Monthly article here.
|such a lovely song to come out of such tragedy|