Why I Put Flowers At This Fire Station Every Year

By Isabelle Garreaud on September 11, 2016

National September 11th memorial reflecting pool

Fifteen years ago today, my mom told my babysitter to pick me up early from school and take me home. She was one of the many parents who wanted their children close to them on the most tragic day in American history. My mom wouldn’t be able to be with me right away, as she was still stuck in a mass scale of panic in a city that wasn’t prepared for something like this to happen.

I was only 6 years old and couldn’t comprehend that something so drastic happened in a city that was close to my heart. All I knew was that two towers had fallen and my mom was safe trying to make her way home. My dad and brother were on a plane that was being diverted to Germany and I was to stay at my friend’s house, whose father also worked in New York City.

It was in that moment that many children’s perception of reality changed. While I don’t remember much from that day, I grew up in the aftermath, in a world shaped by fear. No longer were the Power Puff Girls my heroes, as I came to understood that it was the people who put on a uniform every day that are the ones that are risking their lives to save us.

Every year, we mark the anniversary of the tragic events that happened that fatal day and it never feels right when I speak up in class to mention that my mom was there during the attacks. Too many lives were lost, too much sadness revolves around that day to associate it with her.

Slowly for sure, the great city healed. My mom eventually went back to work, looking the other way as the train passed by the skyline that seemed empty. Her office and apartment were in midtown, close to a fire station that she would learn lost the most men that morning.

Engine 54, Ladder 4, Battalion 9. Those are the six words that weren’t repeated much in the memorials but deserve to be greatly remembered for their bravery. Fifteen of their firefighters rushed to the collapsing towers downtown, to save all that they could but none of them returned.

Engine 54, Ladder 4, Battalion 9: the house that had the most healing to do.

Walking by that fire station, you can see the colorful painting on the door that begins to darken as you read over every name of those who probably didn’t know that day would be their last.

So every year, I think of this station in the heart of Manhattan, and leave flowers not only for those heroes whose names I would have never known if my mom worked elsewhere but also, for the men that survived.

They carry the legacy of their fallen brothers, protecting the city that they died for. You can see that as soon as their doors open and the sound of the siren goes on.

The world will never forget all those who lost their lives on this tragic day, but there is something even more important that we should remember — all those who risked their lives to save strangers. Whether it was the firefighters, police officers, EMTS or all those who volunteered to lend a hand where it was needed, they did so without needing to be asked.

All it takes is one act of kindness, one act of bravery to make a difference and this day proved just that.

(Photo Credits: Isabelle Garreaud)

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