| Sharing
Tears |
 |
Translated
by Wilmot Yeh, Liang Bi Huang, Northern California
November 06, 2001
From far away, I
could already see the enlarged photos he wore on his front and
back. He was like many others, searching for a loved one that
was missing, hoping that someone would recognize the face out
of many victims. Under the warm sun on the banks of the Hudson
River, it seemed unfitting, out of place.
The person in the photo was a handsome young man. I couldn't
help but ask, "Is that your brother?" The man replied,
"No, it's my son." I immediately felt a wave of shock
and sorrow. "I'm sorry. How old was he?"
"Twenty-five."
My brain filled with images of my own child. My heart felt the
tug of knowing I had a child the same age. I took another glance
at the man's face, searching toward the far bank of the Hudson
River. I knew what he was looking for. Perhaps if he looked
just a little more, he would see his son's face. Perhaps the
only way to maintain a semblance of calm was to continue looking
and searching.
At that moment, there was nothing I could say to him that would
do justice to the feelings within me. Watching his face streaming
with tears, I could not keep from crying myself. At least I
could truthfully share what was in both of our hearts. At least
I could show him that all of us from Tzu Chi, from Taiwan, were
sharing in his pain and sorrow, and giving him our blessings
and prayers.
Families of victims gazed across the Hudson
river, toward the other shore with its majestic skyline that
had lost its visual appeal without the Twin Towers. With bowed
heads, each wrote a card to a lost loved one filled with blessings,
love, and drops of tears. These cards would be tied to balloons
in hopes that the wind would carry them to those that had died
in the tragedy.
As the balloons took flight, it became almost unbearable to
let go of the strings. Watching the colors recede to the horizon,
people prayed wordlessly, not knowing what to ask or what to
think. As they stood blankly with tear-streaked faces, Tzu Chi
members provided shoulders for them to lean on, some embracing
them with hugs, some holding their cold hands and giving them
warmth. The support was not only for the moment: Tzu Chi will
be there for them forever.
On the ferry to Manhattan Island, no one
could appreciate the idyllic images of seagulls circling and
the golden glint of sun upon the water. As the boat reached
shore, an overwhelming wave of sorrow and pain reached everyone
on board. Debarking and venturing into the disaster area, the
enormous scale of the tragedy weighed us down and slowed our
steps. Tzu Chi volunteers firmly held the hands of victims'
friends and relatives. Walking through the forest of buildings,
a burnt smell became stronger and stronger. The multitude of
flowers and teddy bears placed on the side of the road told
us we were close to the site of the disaster.
Turning a corner, we could see the horrible wreckage of what
used to be the grand towers of the World Trade Center. It felt
like the aftermath of a war, and it struck fear into everyone
who saw it. One grief-stricken mother who had lost a son finally
broke down and cried openly onto a volunteer's supportive shoulder.
"My darling, how could you leave me here? I don't want
you to go. I hate to see you die in such a way. My dear son,
your mother has come to see you." Her cries went straight
to my heart. What could I say to this grief-stricken parent?
I could only let her cry, hoping that maybe it would relieve
some of the pain. Let her cry. I held her trembling body, and
my own tears dripped down her hair. I felt like I was holding
my mother. Both of us cried for the suffering of humanity.
Mrs. Chang from Taiwan had a daughter named
Mandy who worked at the First Commercial Bank on the 78th floor
of the World Trade Center. On the night of September 10, Mandy
had just taken her mother to the airport for her return to Taiwan.
The plane was delayed, and it did not take off until 6:00 the
next morning. It was during the flight, three hours later, that
Mrs. Chang heard news of the tragedy. Her body went limp, and
she had to be carried off the plane in a wheelchair when they
landed in Anchorage, Alaska. When she finally reached Taipei,
she turned around and boarded a plane back to New York to make
arrangements for the funeral.
On the way to the disaster area, tears streamed from her eyes.
Seeing her overwhelming grief, Tzu Chi volunteers gave her their
full support. Arriving at the scene, she could not help but
repeat Mandy's name over and over. To see a silver-haired elder
mourning a black-haired youth is an indescribable feeling.
Returning from the wreckage, Mrs. Chang told everybody stories
from Mandy's childhood. Though we hadn't known Mandy, we could
strongly feel the bond between mother and daughter. I asked
her how she felt. She looked around at the compassionate group
of women surrounding her and said, "Although I've lost
a daughter, it feels that I've just gained many more."
Wearing a black business suit and carrying
a bouquet of white daisies, she wandered silently down the street,.
She was still young, around thirty years old. Her husband was
working in the World Trade Center on September 11. It was a
month after that day that she attended her first Tzu Chi memorial
session.
From the ferry landing to the disaster scene, I continued to
hold her hand. Her youth gave the impression of strength in
the face of tragedy, but I could tell that the pain struck deep
into her core. As we reached the site, her stoicism finally
broke down. Tears filled her eyes, and she stared blankly at
the rubble in front of her. Her frail face showed a month's
worth of pain and sorrow. Her absolute silence worried me. I
felt almost compelled to break the wall that surrounded her.
Returning on the ferry, I presented her with a contact card.
That started our conversation. She was from China and her husband
was from Hong Kong. After they were married they had lived in
New York, and didn't have any children yet. Before the September
11 attack, she and her husband had had some disagreements. Now
it was too late to let him know that she truly loved him. This
remorse would be with her for the rest of her life. At the end,
she told me that she felt and appreciated the compassion and
support of the Tzu Chi members, and she would never forget it.
Looking after her as she left, I felt an emptiness in my heart.
Walking through the aftermath of September 11 was the most tearful
experience of my entire life. It also led me to a complete understanding
of the boundless compassion that Tzu Chi is based upon.
