The first thing we saw was the flag...the one they hung on the side of the Pentagon. It is huge....makes-your-neck-hurt-to-look-all-the-way-up huge. IT's smudged and a bit worse for wear. It's gorgeous.
There were a room where folks could sit and write their memories of 9-11. There were stations that were playing the messages left on answering machines. There was a piece of one of the plane's engines, a piece of a fire truck, shoes, briefcases, melted calculators...there was a lot of stuff.
The most amazing thing about the exhibit? There had to be at least 200 people in it, and it was SO quiet. Like a church. Not even the children and babies were making noise. The only sounds I heard were the answering machine tapes playing, and crying. Sobbing. There was a little room where they were playing TV footage of that day (ABC, what's his name? so THAT's what he looks like!). Folks would come in, sit down, and then at various points get up and leave. When the first tower collapsed, there was a collective gasp....it was like we were all hoping and praying that maybe this time it wouldn't fall, maybe this time it would be ok. It was like getting slapped in the face. But, very few of us looked away.
I think I could have touched some of the things had I wanted to, I could have written my memories. but, you know, I felt by doing that, someone would have to read how *I* felt on that day. And, it's not about me. I didn't want to take one smidgen of empathy or feelings away from those the exhibit was honoring.
It made both of us cry...it was a place we didn't want to be, but couldn't imagine not being there. Like it was our duty.