Hand Written Signs
Day 14. I was in New York City the entire week of 9/11. I was representing the State of New Jersey in a large construction case and would stay in midtown Manhattan at the Penn Club and take the train each morning to Trenton. On the morning of 9/11 I left the Penn Club at 6:30 am, proceeded to Penn Station, and boarded a train to Trenton to take a deposition that day. By 10 am the deposition was interrupted and the world changed. Ultimately, I made it back to Manhattan that night and spent the rest of the week in NY/NJ.
I vividly recall the walls of Penn Station lined with hand written signs and pictures of the missing whose families were desperately looking for information about their missing loved ones. It was, to say the least and the obvious, terrible. Tears welled up in my eyes as I walked passed the pictures of the missing. The signs and pictures remained for a few weeks and soon were, unfortunately, no longer needed as the 3,000 plus dead were identified and confirmed.
This pandemic is worse. We have now reached the point (and the worst has yet to come) that every day begins for me with checking the internet news to see how many and who have died. And all too often I know someone who has been was felled by this virus.
I have never experienced war first hand. Now I am.