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RING 9/71 DAS SSDS. in Scugog, they fell in love with the town and it wasn’t long before they pur- chased a house and moved into Port Perry. Before meeting her husband Pam says she was career driven and a rather superficial person. “I had pretty much given up on the chance of having chil- dren and knew I would never leave New York.” That was ten years ago and today she admits, it was that one day in Sep- tember 2001 that changed her life forever. She now has two young boys, a beau- tiful home, supportive husband and more genuine friends than she could have ever _ “1 appreciate life much more and feel I’m a kinder person,” she si But despite her new life far away from the glitz and glamour of New York City — the city she called home for so long - the impact and memories of that day still haunt her from time to time. Corresponding with a friend last year, the first time she had openly ex- essed her thoughts since the attacks, she wrote about how she had been changed forever. She says “little things” that she never thought of before, now bring tears to her eyes and flood her brain with unforgettable images. She cries when she hears bagpipes no matter where she is —a memory of the hauntingly sad sound of the bagpipes being played the numerous funerals she attended. “They (bagpipers) were everywhere,” she recalls. And as unlikely as it may seem - carnations, red fire trucks and bright clear skies all bring back similar feelings and memories. Confetti is yet another reminder. Anyone who witnessed the towers col- lapsing on television, could not forget the scene of thousands of pieces of paper floating to earth like confetti. It’s a scene Pam can’t shake from her memory either. “Many of us still get scared by it — shredded paper was everywhere downtown,” she recalled. This traumatic experience may have scarred her, but she’s thankful for the changes it made in her life. Ten years ago, she says, she probably would have talked through the national anthem, avoided church and just lived for the next big party. “I was too young to understand about Vietnam when I was growing up and patriotism was just a word.” Today I can’t get through the national anthem (both American and Cana- dian) without tearing up. I never thought about it before. Heck, I even get wet eyes when I see those sweet old men handing out poppies at the grocery store,” she admits. Over the past couple of years, when anyone has asked her if she will be attending a special service or planning to see a film about 9/11, she simply answered “no”, and for good reason. Pam says the answer may seem to come across as if she’s forgotten, but that’s not the case at all. “It’s just still too pain- ful,” she admits. Despite her reluctance to let that day control her life, there’s little doubt when the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks on New York arrives - the city in which she grew up, worked and lived — there will be a pain in her heart and a tear in her eye. In her words to a good friend - “we can never forget.” “Today | can’t get through the national anthem (American or Canadian) without tearing up — | never really thought about it before.” ... pam Hollett By J. Peter Hvidsten Focus on Scugog KAREN STILLER REMEMBERS On the moming of September 11, 2001, | opened my front door to wel- come a young mother into our Toronto home. She brought her baby, and | had my three young ones already at play on our family room floor. We had barely poured our tea when the phone rang. It was my husband Brent, calling from the downtown church where he worked, to tell me that something horrible was happening in New York City. | turned on the TV as Brent ended our call. My new friend and | never did get a chance to visit. We sat, horrified and transfixed as we watched the now infamous images played out on the TV. We barely spoke. Later, | watched our eldest son create a stack of lego blocks as high as he could make it, and then plow it down with a toy airplane. | felt badly that his young world now included a scene of horror. Two years ago our family piled into our van and spent the days between Christmas and New Year's in New York City. On the afternoon of New Year's Eve, we made our way to ‘Ground Zero’. We read some of the tributes, including a Christmas tree decorated with photos and poems to lives lost. Hawkers sold commemorative books. Commuters streamed by us. It was grey and cold. Surreal. And impos- sible to believe that such horror had played out in the spot we stood, in the heart of a city that did seem to encompass all the possibilities in the world, including, | suppose, the worst you could imagine. FOCUS - SEPTEMBER 2011 47