I don’t get caught up in real estate. It isn’t that at all. It’s the awareness of an injury, and the long, long process of recovery.
Every day that property in Manhattan remained vacant was a splinter in my mind. Sure, buildings like these aren’t just thrown up. Takes time to build them right. But that void seemed to me like a lasting satisfaction on the part of our attackers. As long as that space was empty, their mission was accomplished. I couldn’t stand that.
To say I’m not from New York is like saying I’m not from Mars. Doesn’t matter. Much as we love to bitch about our neighbors and find petty differences to magnify, there is still a sense of unity. How something truly huge can wipe clear those perceived differences, and we cannot help but see we are all in this together.
I don’t care what it’s called. The Freedom Tower matters. It’s a return to normalcy. It’s closure after a time of grief. And it’s a sign to our enemies that their violent efforts will always be in vain.
Am I putting too much importance on a structure as a symbol? Maybe. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m proud of the men and women who built it. I’m proud that, at last, the New York skyline is restored. No, not restored. Healed.
Please remember the men and women of the emergency services who gave their all, and please support the ones who suffer chronic illness as a result of that service. They need you.