September - We Will Never Forget

It was the storm that night that kept him there for another night. Wayne Rigsby had planned to drive back to California starting at night when there would be less traffic. Any time you left New York City, there were people on the road, but after dinner it started to settle. He had hoped to make Ohio by morning light. He would take a cheap room, sleep a few hours and press on.

Wayne Rigsby had come to visit his cousin. He was hoping this trip and this time would help him focus and make that decision. At 22 years old, he was at a crossroads in his life. Great Aunt Helen's grandson Mike Hill was a cop. He wasn't just on the job; he was on the BIG job, the NYPD. Wayne had been offered places in both the police and fire academies in California. He was already a volunteer firefighter and loves it. But his family history drew him to the law. He wanted to be on the right side of it instead of racing away from it on a motorcycle. Both paths pulled at him.

He had found Mike at a funeral, of all places. Mike had flown to California for his grandmother's funeral. He was 5 years older than Wayne, but as happens as we age, the difference mattered not at all. He was not as tall as Wayne, but shared that big grin. He had a quick sense of humor and it was just a little off kilter. When he found out about Wayne's decision, he immediately invited him east. He would bring his 'little cousin' down to the precinct, introduce him to a few guys and they would hang out at a cop bar. He would give the kid a sense of what a cop's life was really like. TV always got it wrong. Manhattan South was the busiest precinct in the City. Spending a little time there would really give him a taste.

After a farewell dinner, with no drinks for Wayne, they were going to escort him to the city line. All very unofficially of course. But the wind and lightning changed all their plans.

"Kid, you better lay low tonight. This will blow over by morning and it will be a beautiful day. Wait till 9:30 or so and they it should be clear sailing over the bridges. Only I got to work a day tour tomorrow. So, I won't wake you when I get out. Just call my cell phone and let me know you are on the road. You can leave the extra key with the old lady downstairs, OK?"

"Yeah, thanks Mike. This has been great"

"Have you decided yet? I would hate to see you become a rubber man! Go on the Job. My buddies all think you would do good."

"Yeah, I think I want the best of both worlds. I will stay a volunteer, and go on the job in San Diego. I think maybe I will try to go into arson investigation or the bomb squad"

"Smart move. Find you spot on this job, that's what the old guys always tell me. I am still waiting to hear about ESU. Of course, it will be crazy but hey, you know I love this job!" He laughed as he said it.

They started to shake and wound up doing that awkward guy hug. With a last flash of that family grin, Mike headed to bed. Wayne wandered over to the couch to sleep. Now that he wasn't driving, he thought about a beer, but always hated to drink alone. Better get a good night's rest, he thought; tomorrow will be a long day.

He had no idea how long.

Nine long years later, Wayne woke on September 11, 2010. He hadn't slept well the night before. That whole week before and a few days after always had him on edge. It was the first year he wasn't going to Ground Zero for the memorial. At some point at last year's he finally felt Mike's presence. He knew that Mike would have wanted him to move on.

After spending weeks at 'the pile' digging and moving debris, Wayne had finally gotten thrown out of the area. At first the chaos and confusion had made it easy for some really big guy willing to help to do just that. He found a couple of Mike's buddies. Fortunately, his bunker gear had never made it out of his truck before he drove east. He just put it on and was accepted as a brother looking for one the lost down there.

Nine years later, the memory of the sights and smells could still stop him. The hot spots that almost burned his boots off. The sounds of hundreds working together. The eerie silence when they were all told to stop because someone thought they heard something. The feeling of despair when they all stopped and lined up as another person or part of person was brought out.

When he got home finally, members of his fire department rallied around him. They knew of his loss and dedicated a plaque in Mike's memory on the new rig. Some hailed him as a hero for working down there. Wayne flat out refused any accolades they wanted to give him.

It was six months later when they finally made an ID of Mike from hair on a brush. There really wasn't much to bury, but the funeral finally put an end to Mike's Moms miserable uncertainty. By then Wayne was in the Police Academy and had to really work to get the time off to go east. Fortunately, one of the directors had looked carefully at his file and seen the mention of Wayne's time in NY.

Nine years later. It didn't seem possible that the time had gone by so fast. Even though it was a Saturday, they were still working a high profile case. His only concession to the day was a tiny American Flag pin a volunteer had given him 9 years ago. As he pinned it to his lapel, he knew it was not officially allowed by CBI regulations to wear anything like this while working. He knew he didn't care.

As he walked past the coffee shop showing highlights from the memorial that was just finishing in NY, Wayne noticed the flag and banner the owner had hung.

"We will Never Forget."

Forgetting was not possible. Wayne was heading to work, remembering, but still going for the bad guys. That's what he did to remember Mike.

Let me begin by explaining that Mike is a made up character. He represents a lot of gus we knew. The sights and sounds that Wayne 'remembers' are culled from stories we heard over the next months and years. And we heard heartbreaking ones that never made the media.

Nine years ago, my husband had been retired for a few months from the NYPD. He is a volunteer firefighter. I spent that day curled up on my sofa in horror as I reeled off names of people we knew on both the PD and FD in my head. I remember going to the bus stop and realizing that out of 6 families there, only one was not a cop or fireman. We checked on those we knew of and hugged and cried before the kids got off the bus.

That night, we found out a cop my husband had worked with had become a firefighter and had "gone missing" as people said. Andy's funeral was heartbreaking. As time went on, and we saw pictures of cops and fireman, my darling husband would learn of others he knew who had been lost. One of the volunteers who was a captain in the FDNY was gone. His funeral was months after. They found his helmet.

I don't know how the rest of the country dealt with that day and those weeks and months that followed. But for us, it was painful and real and close. I never went to Ground Zero. Once I heard stories about souvenir vendors down there, I couldn't.

This is the last story in this series. For those of you who were expecting fun and fluff, maybe another time.

As you read this story, please take a moment and pray for those who were lost and those they left behind.