>Five years ago today I walked home alone across the 59th Street Bridge. These are the shoes that got me there safely. I don’t like thinking of the walk home and have never again worn the shoes, but I can’t bring myself to throw them away.
This morning at 8:30 I was jolted awake by the deep bass horn of a fire truck right outside my bedroom window. I leapt out of bed and threw the curtains back to see if the ESB and Chrysler buildings were okay. Then again at 8:46 — the time of the first plane crashing — another fire engine, stuck in traffic honked persistently. I looked out again and saw the guys putting on those brown hoods. I wish they could have been in their fire house safe and quiet honoring the six men of Rescue Company 4 who died five years ago today and the three who died on Father’s Day. Instead they were rushing to another emergency stuck outside a building where yet another one of their own died on my floor in 1995. So many sacrifices. Too many.