A tough time in a tough decade

Few memories in my life could remain so vivid: Stepping off the PATH train, and walking what seemed like 20 blocks to the smoldering ruins of the Twin Towers, and breathing in the burning smell of God-knows-what.

It was Sept. 12, 2001, the day after. I was supposed to write a story on the PATH service, and how commuters were coping with the worst tragedy of their lives. Then I was to head south, and perhaps help with the news coverage down there.

But I had little interest in working. I just wanted to see Ground Zero, otherwise known as "the pile;" the day before, I saw Tower One fall, and crumble into a pile of beams and ash, as I drove north on the New Jersey Turnpike. I saw people with video cameras parked along the road, trying to squeeze some glimpse of history in between videos of their family memories.

But, on Sept. 12, as I walked down there, and I got closer, I saw images that seemed to stand out more than "the pile" ever did. I saw people walking around with posters, saying, "Please help me! Have you seen her? Please, can you help me?" They were like the people I used to see at airports who handed out brochures, saying there was "no tomorrow," and "God will be there to save us...believe in him."

To say it was surreal would be cliche. Simply, it was the most depressing thing I ever saw.

I tried to walk past the people, and get to the pile; instead, I just stood there, and saw the people walk around like zombies, holding the pictures close to their chests, or high over their heads, looking so helpless and hapless.

I somehow knew that they would never find those people; what I didn't know was that, eight years later, many of them still seem to be looking for the loved ones they lost, and they're still struggling with the idea that they'll never come back, and that their lives will never be the same.

Back then, I thought I was in another country. This was the United States, I thought, a country with bravado. This was a country that pushed the Germans back on D-Day, and eventually all the way back to Berlin. This was not a country where people look for someone to constantly reassure them, and tell them, "It's OK. Everything is OK. We'll get the bad guys. It's OK."

It's a memory I'll never lose, even as we, as a country, seem to be so detached from it now. Even last week's near-terrorist attack on a Detroit-bound jet didn't seem to ignite the feelings of vengeance that drives people's anger when they've been attacked.

But, in other ways, we're a nation that's still hurting. When we hear about talk of the economy, and we see the poll numbers showing a falling level of confidence in government, I wonder if it has more to do with nation's soul that was wounded eight years ago, and never really recovered from it.

I think that were less detached than we think from the zombie-like atmosphere that I saw in lower Manhattan eight years ago, and we're still looking for some hero to tell us, "It's OK. America will do fine. It's OK."

I've written a lot in this space about the services available for people who are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, particularly people who were victims of 9-11. But, in a way, I feel like we're all suffering from nationwide PTSD, and we're still looking for some something to heal ourselves, and give us a chance to move on.

I think we're still looking for some ticker-tape parade, something that will declare that not only are the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq over, but it's OK to shop again, and it's OK to buy things again, because we're no longer spending money to fight wars against terrorists we can't see.

We're looking for some finality to the worst moment of our lives. But it never came, or it hasn't come yet; indeed, it's only escalated now that President Obama has sent in another 30,000 troops to fight the terrorist war in Afghanistan. It's only continuing when someone somehow finds a way to get the components of a bomb aboard a plane, and comes within minutes of creating our worst tragedy since Sept. 11.

In my personal life, it's continuing because I lost a friend. He's not dead, but he had a business in the World Trade Center that was obliterated when Tower One fell. Rich Kelly, another old Point Pleasant Borough high school buddy of mine, was a hero that day because he ordered people to run to Battery Park, and avoid getting buried under the crush of steel and ash.

The problem, however, was that no one was there to save Rich. Afterward, he tried to recover, buying himself a Porsche and taking me on a ride through Colts Neck, N.J., speeding up to 90 mph on some of the old, two-lane roads that run through one of the state's wealthiest communities. But he ran into trouble as he tried rescue his business life.

I tried to help, but he resisted, to the point that he virtually shut off contact with me. Rich always thought he'd be a millionaire by the time he was 30. Last I heard, he was working around the clock, selling phone systems to businesses and still trying to recover that dream. Leaving him a phone message, or sending him an email is pointless. He won't return any of them.

A lot of people blame President Obama for doing little to turn the nation's confidence around. I don't fall into that category. Mostly, however, I look forward to this new year and new decade. I've heard people talk about the 1960s and 1970s, and how they looked forward to the end of those troubled times just by looking at the clock.

Perhaps time is our only ally here, and we can hope that a new decade will inspire hope. We can hope that people will find a way to get through their trauma, and that they'll find a way to move on as we move farther and farther away from 9-11. We can hope that someone can provide more services, or better services that people can use to help themselves. Or, maybe people find a way to have better access to those services, wherever they may exist.

We can hope that people like Rich can dream of being millionaires again. But if they can't, then maybe they can come to grips with who they are, and perhaps play a role that can inspire people, the same way Rich inspired people to run away from the falling tower.