Sept 14: Remembrance

South Florida really does have a heart. That's easy to forget sometimes. But I was reminded of it again just yesterday, during a time of year when remembering the past and looking ahead to a better future seems especially appropriate. We're in the middle of the Jewish High Holy Days for one thing, with Rosh Hashanah just passed and Yom Kippur nearly upon us. And of course the ninth anniversary of 9/11 happened on Saturday. Each of us in this country, and millions of others around the world, have our individual feelings connected with that shocking moment. My memories include a visit to Ground Zero less than two months after the attacks, when the demolished buildings were still smoking and ash covered lower Manhattan. I even wrote a poem about 9/11 that now is part of the Artists Registry at the National September 11 Memorial Museum in New York City.

So like all of us, yes, I have a deep reaction when I remember those who died nine years ago. But I didn't think to offer the simple show of respect that I discovered over the weekend, a touching act of remembrance by some anonymous someone in Greater Fort Lauderdale. And that discovery is what I thought was worth sharing with you in this blog.

Yesterday, on a lovely warm Sunday afternoon, I watched the Miami Dolphins football game on TV and then headed over to one of my favorite small parks. I've mentioned this place several times before - Colee Hammock Park on the New River. Charming little spot under tall shade trees with a great view of the mansions and passing boats. I sat on a bench to enjoy the breeze. Then I looked down and noticed the plaque I'd read many times before but had forgotten about this weekend. Embedded in the ground near a young six-foot tree, the plaque reads: "This ‘Tree of Life' is planted in memory of our flying partners who lost their lives on September 11, 2001. United Flight 93   United Flight 175   American Flight 11   American Flight 77   Association of Flight Attendants Council 22 - Miami, Florida." I'm always moved by this when I see it. But on top of that plaque this weekend, someone had left a single long-stem rose. It was wilting a bit by the time I saw the flower yet lay there undisturbed by the many passersby. The rose was pale pink with vivid pink edges, placed lengthwise across the foot-long plaque in the earth. What could be more meaningful? I touched the flower's leaves very gently, and then I walked away. As I did, I wondered who had left the rose and what exactly had moved them to do so. But I was grateful to that person, whoever it was, for the gesture - and for the reminder that sometimes out of the ugliest hatred something beautiful really can come.