The Elements of Zion: the Vine, the Branch, and the Thorn

Griefs Unseen Comfort

As I closed the door to my dads old Ford truck, I paused for a moment before turning the keys in the ignition. The busy streets of Manhattan hummed with life, a stark contrast to the somber reason for my visit. It was mid-morning, and the sun had just started to peek through the skyscrapers, casting fragmented shadows across Central Park.

Today held a dual significance for me; not only was I grappling with the revelation from my doctor's visit, a reminder of the war that left me feeling exposed, but it also marked the anniversary of a horrific tragedy. I felt a mixture of emotions intertwining within me as I steered towards the 9/11 Memorial, my thoughts consumed by the doctor's words, yet inevitably drawn back to the memories of that fateful day.

For years, my father had accompanied me on this journey. But as I approached the memorial site, my heart weighed heavy with the knowledge that he was not with me this time. He had always brought a sense of comfort, his gentle presence a balm to the pain of loss.

As I drove into a damp and dark parking garage nearby, I noticed that it was already filled with cars. I hesitated for a moment before retrieving my father's handicapped pass from the glove compartment and hanging it on the rearview mirror with a silent apology. The musty air and cold concrete walls seemed to amplify my guilt, but I knew that today, of all days, I needed to be close to those who shared my sorrow.

Clutching a bouquet of flowers from the passenger seat of my dust-coated truck, I waded through the chaotic crowd. Panicked shouts and blaring sirens filled the air, a stark contrast to the peace I sought. A security guard, his face grim, blocked my path, gesturing to the broken barricade that rerouted all visitors. Frustration bubbled up, but I couldn't abandon my mission. Each passing minute felt like an eternity as I navigated the detour, my steps quickening with each beat of my anxious heart. Finally, I reached the memorial.

Carefully, I placed the flowers at the foot of the engraved name, the fragile petals brushing against the cold granite. My once-withheld tears broke free, cascading down my cheeks and falling into the space where her name was chiseled. The sight of the memorial, the crowds paying homage, and the hallowed emptiness that lay where the Twin Towers once stood, evoked a vivid reel of memories from that day. As the tremors of my hands grew more persistent, I couldn't help but reminisce. It was a day seared into our collective consciousness, a day forever imprinted onto my soul.

Determined to gasp a breath and compose myself, I moved towards a nearby bench, hidden under the comforting shade of verdant trees. The sudden onslaught of a panic attack clawed in my chest, trying to emerge, but I fought it back, urging myself to find solace and peace in this sacred place. As I tried to regain my breath, a soothing, somewhat familiar voice caught my attention. "Do you remember what you were doing that day?"

Glancing to my right, I noticed an elderly man on his knees, carefully planting flowers around the tree beside the park bench. His deep brown skin glistened with sweat, dirt staining his hands as he gently patted the soil around the colorful flora. I hesitated, wondering if he was truly addressing me, but his wise eyes met mine, acknowledging my presence and offering an unspoken reassurance.

"Not much of a talker, are you?" he pressed.

My gaze drifted back towards the memorial, unable to ignore the pull the engraved names had on me. "I had just turned sixteen and was getting my license that day."

"You were about to get your first taste of freedom as a young man then?"

I hesitated, unsure of his intentions, but responded, "Yeah, something like that."

"Did you lose somebody dear to your heart that day?"

"Excuse me?" I replied, momentarily taken aback.

The gardener, who I now noticed was an older man with wise, yet comforting eyes, began pulling weeds from the mulch around the tree. "I noticed you placed flowers on the memorial just now. People don't usually come here on September 11th to celebrate. Your soul is mourning somebody, correct?"

I looked back at him, frustration bubbling up. Who did this guy think he was? "Listen, buddy, I've dealt with one shrink already this morning. I don't need some random stranger analyzing me now."

With a chuckle, the gardener stood up, dusting the dirt from his knees, and began taking off his work gloves. He walked over to where I was sitting, his smile warm and disarming. "My apologies. Let me introduce myself."

"I am..." He extended his hand to me, waiting patiently.

"You are... who?"

"The gardener of this facility," he said.

Somewhat bewildered, I reluctantly shook his hand. "Uh, I'm Issac."

The gardener raised an eyebrow, studying me for a moment. "For a name like Issac, you seem to carry quite a burden of pain." He then sat down beside me on the bench, his presence strangely comforting.

"Story of my life," I said.

"Is this where it all began?" He inquired with genuine curiosity, his eyes searching mine.

That day, I had already bared my soul and revealed all of my dark secrets. What harm could there be in sharing my tragedies? I looked at him, suddenly feeling a level of trust that compelled me to open up and began to recount the events that unfolded here at the World Trade Center on that September morning.

"I lost my mother that day..." I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I could feel my throat tighten as the memory flooded back. Leaning over, I folded my hands and stared down at the ground, my eyes fixated on the pebbles and the fragile blades of grass reaching up toward the sky. "She was working on the ninety-seventh floor of the south tower when the second plane hit."

"How did you come to find out, Issac?"

I paused for a moment, reliving the scene in my mind. "Stuck in line at the DMV, just tryna get my license. Big day, right? So there I am, watchin' the paint dry, when BAM! All the TVs switch to the tower billowing smoke.