Last Words
Friends,
Sometimes when I am preparing these blog posts, all hell breaks loose in the world, and I have to ditch whatever I have started — or at least put it on hold — and head off in a different direction. At the moment, America feels more deeply fractured than ever in the aftermath of the murder of Charlie Kirk. Even though I disagreed with Kirk’s views on virtually everything, I am horrified not only by his murder, but also what it has unleashed. I believe in the right to speak freely, without fear. If I want to be afforded the right to express my views in safety, then Charlie Kirk had that right as well. Without that right, democracy — already so threatened — will surely die.
As I write, the alleged murderer has been recently captured, but his motives remain unclear, at least to me. What is clear is that some, including the president of the United States, are calling for clamping down on those whose views differ from theirs. I cannot abide that — and that’s not simply because I happen to be one of the ones with diverging views. All of us, whatever our views, need to be able to speak freely. Period. I won’t say more. I cannot say more right now. My heart is simply too broken.
Meanwhile, we have just passed another anniversary of September 11, 2001. I could recount my experience of that day, but, instead, I want to share something from my files with you. It seems a One Good Thing message that, perhaps, can sustain us a little bit at this tender and uncertain moment. Although it has not been my custom to bring anything “churchy” to this blog, today it feels appropriate to share a liturgy I wrote for a church service a few months after the September 11 terrorist attacks. To create this piece, I compiled the last words of various victims, as reported in various news outlets at the time. To me, this piece of writing, now more than 20 years old, speaks to my most deeply held value. Whatever your religion or political persuasion, I think there will be something for you here.
The liturgy is meant for several speakers, as you will see, so imagine yourself hearing a variety of voices sharing the following words with you. I offer it to you in the spirit of healing. In the end, it seems to me that only one thing matters.
Last Words on September 11, 2001. Compiled by Sylvia Stocker
Narrator: On September 11, 2001, people in the towers and people in the planes telephoned their loved ones to impart one final message. Today we remember their last words.
The last words of an unnamed 24-year-old son to his mother, and his mother's response . . .
Son (Speaker One): Mom, the ceiling's falling down. I'm going to die. I love you.
Mother (Speaker Two): Go and hold someone's hand. Be with someone. I don't want you to die alone.
Narrator: The last words of Lauren Grandcolas, aboard Flight 93, to her husband . . .
Lauren Grandcolas (Speaker Three): We have been hijacked. They are being kind. I love you.
Narrator: The last words of Melissa Hughes, trapped in the World Trade Center, to her husband . . .
Melissa Hughes (Speaker Four): Sean, it's me. I just wanted you to know I love you and I'm stuck in this building in New York. A plane hit the building, or a bomb went off. We don't know, but there's a lot of smoke and I just wanted you to know that I love you always.
Narrator: The last words of Mark Bingham, hero aboard Flight 93 to his mother . . .
Mark Bingham (Speaker Five): I want you to know I love you very much and am calling from the plane. We've been taken over. There are three men and they say they have a bomb. I don't know who they are. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Narrator: The last words of countless men and women facing terrifying and violent death . . .
Speaker One: I love you.
Speaker Two: I love you.
Speaker Three: I love you.
Narrator: And in the towers and on the Manhattan streets below, hundreds rushed into peril to save lives and put out the flames. Crushed in a mountain of debris, their last words remain mute. Today we remember them with these words of Walt Whitman.
I am the mash'd fireman with breast-bone broken,
Tumbling walls buried me in their debris,
Heat and smoke I inspired,
I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades,
I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels,
They have clear'd the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth.
This afternoon we speak their last words for them . . . I love you.
Speaker Four: I love you.
Speaker Five: I love you.
Narrator: And let the people say:
Congregation, saying in unison: I love you.
In this time of turmoil and conflict, I sometimes find it hard to discern the way back to love, as pure as it can be. But I know that’s where I’ve pointed my boat. Even if the boat’s motor dies and I have to pick up the heavy oars and plow them through the waves, and even if the sky is foggy and it’s hard to see the way, I aim to get there. Back to the most important thing. Back to love.
Love,
Sylvia
Sylvia, that's totally beautiful. And so uplifting in these devastating times. Hasty
Thank you, dear Sylvia. Today you have helped me grieve, which also means you have helped to make room for love inside me.