I got us some tickets online for the 9:00 opening (ok, that was the only hour available on such short notice), which means we had to get up at 5 to hitch a ride with Steve on his way into work.
Steve insisted that we had to take the "C" train. Opps, he meant the "E" train. No big deal we got there.
It's no secret that I love to wash windows - that little dot half way up the side of the trade center are window washers. Not in a million years.
The museum entrance was all glass and shiny. Then you entered and head down into the museum. And I mean down below ground. It was quiet and dark. The only lights on were above displays. It was solemn and people talked in whispers.
Camera weren't allowed in most of the rooms, but I did take a few. Then I didn't want to take any. I kept thinking I saw most of this on TV, I don't need anymore pictures of that day.
The famous stairway where the few survivors were.
And a fire truck that was parked 2 blocks away when the towers collapsed.
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After going through the hall where they were playing the phone calls that people trapped were making to their love ones, which was only on the second level, I wanted it to end. We kept on heading down.
The recovery hall had the most disturbing picture. It had a dot for all the places where DNA was found. The furthest away was 10 block away. They call it DNA, but we all know it had to be a body part.
I was holding it together pretty good - didn't have to take advantage of a Kleenex station - until the Reflecting On 911 hall.
They had a picture of all the victims. Inside there was a room to sit and listen to recordings of family members talking about their love ones.
We met on a softball field...
I finally found someone who likes to fish...
She called me at the exact time of my birth on my birthday...
I told Mike that I wanted to leave. It was hitting way too close to home. He was ready too.
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