Greg Hartnett

I am going to keep from any political agenda on this post…

Today is not the day to point fingers, or second guess. Nor is it the time for political jockeying, name calling, or agenda advancing.

It’s a time for all of us to remember. Remember those poor civilians who lost their lives that fateful morning. Remember the families that shattered as those buildings collapsed. Remember what life was like on September 10, 2001. Remember how we felt safe, and trusted that our leaders would take care of us.

As I sift through all the news commemorating the fifth anniversary of 9/11, I find that I am having trouble keeping the tears at bay. The emotions of the day flood back, as if the events happened only yesterday. I think of the guys that I knew who died that day. Chris Slattery, who grew up across the street from me, and in whose house I had my first sleep over. How did he die? Instantly when the plane hit? I like to think so.

Or Chris Ciafardini. A year younger than I when we went to school together. I never really knew him that well, but we hung out a bit. When I watched the names of the victims in the days that followed 9/11, the name jumped out at me. When I saw a street sign in Oyster Bay commemorating him, I realized that my fears had been justified.

Those signs became all too popular in my old home town. I saw them putting one up for Tim Byrne just up the street from where I grew up. A memorial street sign now hangs ominously over the kids playing on the quiet cul-de-sac, a constant reminder of the heart broken home just around the bend.

I remember seeing flyers adorned on store fronts and light poles, hung by family members desperately seeking information about a loved one. I remember learning from my sister that she had finally gotten in touch with my cousin who had worked at the NYSE. And learning from my father that my cousin, who was at the time a speech writer for Giuliani, was also safe.

I remember reaching out to people I knew who may have been afftected. Talking with Brian as the events unfolded, to learn that his buddy LP had gone missing. Unfortunately, Laurence worked at Cantor Fitzgerald, up on the 104th floor of the World Trade Center. Cantor Fitzgerald saw the highest casualties of any company - almost the entire workforce was decimated that morning.

Today as I work, the emotions of the event linger with me. I remember the tragedy each day, but today I permit myself to remember details and emotions of the day. So today, all I do is remember. Tomorrow, I rant.