My brother, Sgt. Mitchel Wallace, was a state court officer and EMT. On Sept. 11, he was heading to work and ran to help. He saved many lives that day; but never came home. Neither did his fellow court officers Sgt. Thomas Jurgens and Capt. William Harry Thompson.
Like all families of the initial 2,977 victims, we rebuilt our lives. We celebrated holidays with an empty chair and continued living. My parents slowly recovered, but not really.
Then the victim count started growing. People were dying from 9/11 illnesses.
In 2001, Christie Whitman, then heading the U.S Environmental Protection Agency, said the air downtown was safe; people could go back to their daily routines. My father’s office was across from the site. In October 2001, trusting assurances, he returned to work for two years.
In 2011 he was diagnosed with mantle cell lymphoma, a rare cancer affecting about 1 in 200,000 people yearly according to the Cleveland Clinic. After a five year remission, he lost his battle never seeing his grandchildren graduate college or his grandson get married.
My Uncle Bruce lived downtown and volunteered at the site. We lost him this year to another 9/11 illness.
Three people; one family.
More people have now died from 9/11 illnesses than died on 9/11.
Five years was tough, 10 years was hard, but 25 years adds anger. Anger that was always there, simmering beneath the surface, now stirred by additional factors. Compounded by years of unanswered questions over why we were told the air was safe. Both of these competing issues are overwhelmingly adding to a grief system already in overdrive.
The Memorial is sacred ground; for many a final resting place. Understandably, some visitors may not have lost anyone personally but still wish to come and pay their respects. We cannot say “Never Forget” and not welcome everyone. It is a tremendous balancing act we live with.
With respect to the 9/11 Memorial Museum, their policy is always to welcome elected officials each year without political speeches. The focus is always on the names and moments of silence. That worked well, until it didn’t. It didn’t this year for many. On the 25th anniversary, families deserve that same focus.
My brother defined courage, my father dedication, and my uncle service. I will not let anger define me, and while I do not speak for all families, I think this year many of us share the same sentiments. It’s important for everyone to understand where both sides of the debate are coming from as seen through the lens of a family member.
9/11 didn’t end when the smoke cleared. For most families, the smoke never cleared at all. This year we just want to hear our loved one’s name spoken and have a ceremony that doesn’t swirl in controversy.
Miller has been in the media industry for more than 35 years.