Even nearly 14 years after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, it’s impossible to look at the New York City skyline and not think about what is missing, not just the buildings, but the lives.
It will be the same in the Upper Stillaguamish Valley, 14 years from now, 30 years from now, looking up onto the hillside that fell away above what was the Steelhead Haven neighborhood.
Vegetation already is returning, and trees, including 43 cedars, one planted for every life lost on March 22, 2014, will grow tall and broad. But for the families, neighbors and friends who lost loved ones, the residents from Darrington to Oso to Arlington, and for many in the county who drive Highway 530, they will remember that so much is missing. Those same thoughts will also return with every spring.
Land is out of place. Homes have vanished. There are holes in hearts.
The challenge now is in how to appropriately mark this anniversary each year. What will we say after the moment of silence?
The grief of family is personal, something that many will choose to keep private and sacred, shared carefully with friends and fellow community members, particularly those who answered the call to lend a hand, serve a meal, gather supplies or help in the search until the last victim was found and returned to her family.
The residents of the Upper Stillaguamish Valley have rightfully earned the respect and admiration of many for their selfless response to recover those lost and support and comfort their families. Rules were rewritten so the state’s Medal of Valor could be presented, not to just one person, but to the communities of Oso, Arlington, Darrington and the Sauk-Suiattle Tribe.
Each spring, the larger Snohomish County community can grieve the losses and honor the memories of those who died. But we should also continue to celebrate those communities that arose to help themselves and their neighbors, the communities that continue the work of recovery and rebuilding.
We can celebrate the dedication they have demonstrated in not giving up after the landslide, the same dedication they have shown in the past in keeping their communities together in tough economic times.
We can use their example as inspiration in our own towns and cities to work together, to rebuild, to serve, to discuss, to volunteer, to teach, to listen, to give without expecting thanks.
A song, “This Old Town,” written by Janis Ian and John Vezner, talks about a little town that weathers decades of hardship and disaster — the Depression, the Dustbowl, World War II and a tornado — because of those who lived there:
“There must be rock beneath the sand,” the chorus goes, “I’ll be damned, this town still stands.”
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