September 11th is the new Labor Day. The autumn season doesn’t really begin until we have mourned our losses from 9/11.

We always remember the blueness of the sky that day.

At Ground Zero, in houses of worship, apartments, firehouses, cemeteries, gardens, and on streets throughout the city, people commemorate the loss of the nearly 3000 people who died on September 11th.

Bells toll at the exact times the planes hit, at the times the south and north towers fell. The names are read.

In the past I have gone to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden to meditate on the grass or to Old First Church to sit and listen to the church bells ring. One year I attended a dinner at Al Di La given by a friend whose husband died on that day. She wanted to thank all her friends for their support and love.

Tonight I will go to the home of that friend and toast the wonderful man we lost.

I don’t think the beginning of September will ever mean anything other than 9/11 and the dispair we felt on that day. And September 12th will always bring relief because on that day in 2001 we slowly began to put back the pieces. Through our tears, our panic, and our bewilderment,  we began the protracted healing process that continues to this day.

9/11 will always be the day we took the hit. But on the day after, we begin to begin again and celebrate the goodness that persists despite the evil we have seen.