David E. Retik played practical jokes on every single person he knew,' said his wife, Susan, who met him in their freshman year at Colgate, where he was a varsity soccer player. Their third child is due on Tuesday."
"Mr. Shaw, 42, an electrician from Levittown, N.Y., whose work took him to the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, was the second of six children -- and the third son to die. 'I lost one son when he was hit by a car,' said his mother, Gerry Shaw. 'Another had spina bifida and died. And now we miss Jeff so much. We still call his cell phone, to tell him how our days are going.'"
Every day, I make a point of going to the bookstore to get a copy of The New York Times to read the one section of the paper that always makes me feel like crying. In the new "A Nation Challenged" section of the Times, created after Sept. 11, there is a page dedicated to individual descriptions of the lives of those who were killed in the terrorist attacks. Each day since then, about 10 people's lives are discussed in a paragraph or more. The Times projects that this section will continue running into May; commemorating the individual lives of 5,000-plus people through words is no easy task.
Since the attacks, I've forced myself to read this page, to remember people I never knew. I meet them for only a paragraph or two. One 24-year-old had just gotten engaged. One man was expecting his first child in December. Another man was planning a Halloween party with his wife. A young woman had just gotten the job promotion of her dreams. A grandfather was going to take a family vacation to Walt Disney World in November.
Each day, the biographies get harder and harder to read -- and yet each day, I force myself to read them, to remember these people if only for a moment in my ongoing efforts to make sense of events which I know I will never truly be able to understand.
After reading the paper in the bookstore last week, I passed a Thanksgiving display of greeting cards, happily boasting goofy-looking turkeys, autumnal colors and pilgrims. I found myself rolling my eyes at the display. What's to be thankful for this year? We're at war. Terrorists have killed thousands in our country. The threat of anthrax makes us nervous to even sort through our mail.
On Thanksgivings of "normal years," we went home for the weekend to clean rooms and clean laundry, family and food. We've seen old friends, watched the parade on TV if we woke up in time and eaten enough turkey and stuffing to make us think that we'd never be able to eat again.
But this year on Thanksgiving, things will be decidedly different. This year, so many Americans will feel loneliness on a holiday traditionally known for having "too much" family. Many American homes missing mothers, fathers and siblings who were killed in the terrorist attacks will have an empty seat at the Thanksgiving table that can never be filled. What do we have to be thankful for anymore?
There will never be a way to make up for this tremendous loss of life. Reading about the lives of those lost in the attacks, remembering the empty seats in America on Thanksgiving can remind us that there is in fact something to be grateful for this year -- and that is each other.
Instead of viewing these losses as a reason to be cynical and thankless on Thanksgiving, we should see them as a reason to appreciate our families even more. To take the time to talk to the uncle we never see. To chat with a sibling we seldom talk to instead of watching the game. To reconnect with people with whom we've lost touch.
This year, empty seats shouldn't remind us only of absence -- but rather, the presence of each other. We should be thankful for our lives, the lives of those we love and our ability to write our own paragraphs of our present and our future.
Ariel Horn is a senior English major from Short Hills, N.J.
