No clergy of any kind claimed this moment for their own.
There were no celebrities sharing witticisms or condolences with the crowd. Politicians came to show their respects, but did not take this occasion to drum up a few more votes for Election Day. They did not take the podium.
There was no podium.
Not this morning.
Today was a quiet day.
The crowds watched from their perches in and around ground zero or from television sets scattered about this country as a fireman struck the bell in the 5, 5, 5, 5 alarm signaling the loss of one of their own.
We watched as the stretcher draped in the American flag, acting as a symbol for all those whose remains would never be found, was carried out carefully, solemnly, quietly by a group of rescue workers.
We watched them place the stretcher in an ambulance and escort the ambulance away. Its lights whirled, but no siren sounded.
Suddenly, there was sound, as the beating of the drums in the pipe and drum band broke through the quiet. The drumbeat was slow and steady like a heartbeat.
Burly police officers in kilts began their march.
We watched as the last steel beam, draped in black then red,white and blue was slowly driven out on a flat bed truck. This beam, on which was scrawled the names of too many who were lost so clearly looked like exactly what it was, a giant coffin, a majestic coffin.
We listened as buglers played taps and knew this was more than a funeral. It was an end and a beginning at the same time.
We watched as the men and women saluted, then slowly joined the line of rescue workers walking out of ground zero, leaving the site on this their last day.
The former mayor was there, the senators, our present mayor and other political figures but they kept quiet, some with their heads bowed and slowly walked off as others did without calling attention to themselves. This was not their day. This was not about them.
This nightmare began nine months ago with screams and explosions, fire and horror, but it ended with dignity, quiet pride and wondrous, selfless heroism.
I wanted to go to ground zero in person this morning but something inside of me decided that the space I might occupy was better left for the mourner or a loved one or a cop or a fireman or someone who just needed to be there more than I did.
I closed the door on my business and my day-to-day world and watched with the rest of you all as grace was illustrated more clearly than I'd ever seen it.
When it was over, I walked to the canvas I had just begun painting and looked at the words I had scrawled in the upper-left corner.
Today
I forgot
To
Be
Afraid
