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Lest we forget . . .
September 11, 2021
“Excuse me, ma’am. Do you know if Toshiya’s family is here?” I whispered, after gently tapping the woman on the shoulder.
I knew she was the wife of one of the forty victims of Flight 93. Standing closely to one another in the crowd, I had overheard her story . . . her story and the many others that circulated in our midst during those cool dusk hours in Shanksville, Pennsylvania on September 10, 2021.
It was a tight-knit community—like family. They had all lived the same horror, the same heart-breaking loss, on September 11, 2001. They understood each other, and they all seemed to know each other well.
Perhaps this woman would know if Toshiya’s family was there, somewhere in the crowd, hidden from my sight.
Where is She?
I had been trying to find his mother, Yachiyo Kuge, for more than two years. I hoped that tonight would be the night that I could finally meet her and give her the honor and respect that she deserves.
Two years ago, I heard Toshiya’s story for the first time. I couldn’t shake it. It touched me so deeply that I wrote a story, “The Japanese Boy in the Field of Pennsylvania.”
“I don’t know if his family is here,” the woman answered me quietly, trying not to disturb those gathered around her.
It was a somber moment of reflection, as the symphony played tribute in the background.
“His mother couldn’t come because of COVID,” a young man said, having overheard our conversation.
“Do you know her?” I said, with excitement, catching my first glimmer of hope . . . hope that perhaps I could finally meet this dear mother.
He nodded.
“Are you in contact with her?”
“I know a Japanese woman in Pittsburg who does translation for her.”
I eagerly grabbed my business card from my back jean pocket and handed it to the man. Tears streamed down my cheeks and onto my face mask.
“Would you please put me in contact with her? I wrote a story about her son two years ago, and I have been trying to find her since.”
He took the card from my shaking hands and reassured me that he would do his best to make the connection.
Telling Their Stories
“Did you lose a friend or family member here?” I asked the young man solemnly.
“No, I interviewed all the families and wrote a book called, Remember Me—The Passengers and Crew of Flight 93. That’s how I know them.”
“Thank you for your work and dedication to honor these families,” I told him. “Thank you for telling their stories . . . lest we forget.”
This young man, Grant Rodriguez Llera, has courageously and admirably told their stories.
Lanterns and Origami Birds
The forty lanterns, representing the forty passengers and crew members, were brought to the Wall of Names. Each one was carefully placed at the marble base, next to the flowers underneath each name. The orchestra continued to play.
It was surreal. How could it be twenty years since 9/11?
After the luminaria was complete, the families were called to approach the Wall of Names, called to approach the memorial of their loved one. I watched from a distance. A flood of emotions filled the air.
After some time, the crowd slowly began to disperse, and I approached Toshiya Kuge’s memorial. At the marble base, the lantern had been placed next to a frame holding his photograph, several red and gold folded origami birds, and a small Japanese flag. I wondered if it had been lovingly prepared by his mother and sent from Japan—sent to honor her beloved son in her absence.
I stood silently, paying tribute and honor to the Japanese Boy in the Field of Pennsylvania. I gently stroked my fingers across his carved name in the white marble, “TOSHIYA KUGE.”
“I’m sorry you couldn’t be here tonight. I’m here to remember and honor your son,” I whispered out loud.
Perhaps his mother heard my words across the ocean in Japan.
Here is Toshiya’s story. Read it, remember . . . lest we forget.
—The Cultural Story-Weaver
MY GIFT TO YOU—GET YOUR FREE EBOOK—”THE 5-DAY JOURNEY TO CULTURAL AWARENESS”!
Let’s Weave Cultures!
What are you doing to honor and remember the victims and families of 9/11? It’s been twenty-one years. Let’s not forget.
We invite you to tell us your own cultural stories . . . as you engage with the world, breaking down barriers, building bridges, and “weaving cultures!” Write about them in the comment box below.
Beautiful. Miss u girl.
I miss you too, Donna! 🙂