In the basement there's a plastic box full of September 11 newspapers and magazines. I don't know why I kept them. I don't expect to look at them ever again. I feel reassured though that I've kept hold of a piece of history, even if second hand. Since I was in Morocco at the time there's a lot of Arabic and French language press so I guess that's something exceptional.
The only items that I did look at again were a couple of issues of the New Yorker that came out the week of and the week after 9/11. I don't remember which article or which writer, but there was one essay that spoke of the sight of couples holding hands when they jumped. That image will stick with me forever.
Those images are the most horrible ones forever etched into my mind. it makes my chest hurt to remember them, and to remember some stupid WaPo headline talking about people committing "suicide." Screw that. Those people were killed as surely as those who died immediately when the plane hit the building. I can't think of any religion I'd want to belong to that would say that those people should have prolonged their agony and just waited for something (what, smoke inhalation? being crushed to death?) instead of jumping.
Sorry, it just touched a whole bunch of nerves.