Listers:
I lost my sister-in-law on that fateful day. I made it into my office
uptown near Lincoln Center and was fumbling in my wallet for her phone
number there on the 83rd Floor of the South Tower when the phone rang.
"Ray, it's Karen," the trembling voice said, "I don't think were going
to be getting out of here." I did my best to calm her down, telling all
the things you would think she'd want to hear - "Sure, the firemen are
on their way; they aren't just going to forget about you." We said a few
personal things and then she said, "It's getting so hot in here, Ray....I
think I'm going to pass out." "Well, Karen," I said, "you do what you have
to do, I'm going to hang with you for a while." I stayed on the phone until
I knew nobody else would be coming on the line. For a building that was
about to collapse, there was a most unsettling silence.
Of course I tried to leave to get home to my wife and our family but, well,
the story is well-known by now. Finally, around 3pm I was able to catch a
train out of New York back to Long Island, arriving there around six.
Once home, I broke the news to my wife about her sister. After those
most private of moments, we both agreed: If we were to lose someone
in the Trade Center, it was the best way to have done it. I was able to
tell my family that she, to quote the poet, 'ceased upon the midnight with
no pain.' She closed her eyes from the heat. I was able to tell of her
courage, that she looked into the over-taking shadow with dignity and that
her last thoughts were of her family. I was also able to say that the last
voice she heard was that of her favorite brother-in-law. (I leave out the
fact that I was her ONLY brother in law, but I am proud to wear the
"favorite" medal, even if only by default).
My family too, did not have to join that heart-breaking parade of people
making the journey from hospital to hospital, looking, hoping, praying.
We knew that she had left us.
I work in a record company, so you would think there would be audio/video
equipment galore in my offices. All we had was a little Radio Shack radio
held together with Scotch tape. I had not seen the planes hit or the
buildings collapse until I arrived home. Until then, this had been merely
my personal tragedy, a family loss. Seeing buildings collapse drove home
the fact that I was the smallest part of this big picture. You, gentle
readers, cannot imagine the enormity of such a thing until you are part
of it, and I hope you never are. Until you see that your loss, your
heartbreak is one three-thousandth of the whole, you just have no clue.
The point of all this is not to arouse sympathy for either my family,
myself or even my sister-in-law. But I just wanted to share that after all
that I listened to NO music for quite some time. When you are that close
to the event, when you feel first hand the loss, the tragedy and when you
understand, better than most, the true barbarity of the act, art is the
furthest thing from your mind.
When I did return to music, it was Mozart. Of course....Mozart. Who else?
The D minor Requiem spoke to me like it never had before. It was a live
performance.....Celibidache, Munich, 1995. It was timeless, magical,
transcendent, mystical. That silence I spoke of on the other end of the
phone was somehow brought to mind. I had accompanied my sister-in-law
as far as I was allowed to go. Then, I was sent back. Some secrets are
jealously guarded. I felt that way with the Mozart Requiem. Mozart had
taken us as far as he was permitted to bring us. We couldn't go with him
any further. He knew that. Of course he did. And we know it too.
If you find comfort in music in tragic times, well and good. Your reaction
is just as 'right' as my own. i just thought i would share my experiences
as someone who has, in the vernacular, 'been there; done that.'
Ray Osnato
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