If you had told me on September 11, 2001, that the day would come when I wouldn’t have a thing to say about the events of that day, I wouldn’t have believed you. I thought I would be grieving and raging for the rest of my life. But time passes. This morning, I thought about posting a remembrance here, but realized that everything that could be said had been said. Or at least everything that could be said by me had been said. I don’t like hearing about 9/11, or reading anything about it. The language has been blasted, exhausted. The only thing left to say is prayers for the dead and those they left behind. I prayed just now for the children of the firefighter whose funeral I went to in Brooklyn Heights. I can’t remember his name. I stood outside the church on Cranberry Street and watched their mother walk with them down towards Henry Street. I followed at a distance, and looked on as she loaded her fatherless children into the minivan, and drive off into their future.

So I spoke to God about them tonight, but that’s all I’ve said. And then just now reader PeterK posted to his Facebook feed the above video about a young broker named Welles Crowther who died in the World Trade Center south tower. He could have escaped with the first group of wounded he led down to safety, but he ran back up 17 flights of stairs and helped others.

Standing on the Brooklyn Bridge, I saw the south tower fall, and Welles Crowther die. I’ll let that beautiful video of his sacrifice speak for the day. God bless him and all the other heroes of that war day.