She fell from the sky.
The paramedic who found her that September 11th morning – lying very much awake, and alert, on the plaza between the north and south towers of the World Trade Center – mused, later, on her point of origin.
Perhaps she was among the 200 or so who jumped that day. (It took about 10 long, long seconds to hit the ground.) Maybe she stumbled in the smoke and confusion, or was jostled by those crowding the broken windows, gasping for air and hope. There was even a chance, the medic realized, that she’d started that morning sitting on an airplane.
She called for help as he ran by. He turned, in shock and horror. Shock, to realize anyone could survive the fall, much less remain conscious afterward. Horror, as his well-trained eyes assessed her injuries, and realized she wouldn’t be conscious, or alive, for long.
She pleaded for his help. She asked him to contact her daughter, let her know she was alive. She moaned, babbled, begged. He pulled out a lanyard with a black tag – triage shorthand for a patient too far gone to save. He began the instinctive effort of blocking out her heart-rending requests.
There were just too many, that awful morning. And for her, it was just too late.
She must have seen it in his eyes, or guessed at the meaning of the black tag.
“I’m alive!” she pleaded, lying helpless, staring up at him. “I’m alive!”
“Someone will be along in a minute,” he said, avoiding her eyes. He stood to his feet and turned to sprint toward the next body.
“I’m alive!” she screamed. “I’m still alive!” The screams kept coming, as he ran away.
* * * * *
Some souls, like some bodies, are too far gone to save. Trouble is … we can’t tell.
We call it, though, anyway. Somewhere in our minds and hearts, we assess. We pull out the lanyard with the black tag. We pronounce them – the ones we don’t like, don’t understand, can’t think how to help – unsalvageable.
We stop praying. We quit looking for the way in. We move on.
There just aren’t that many – can’t be that many – dying thieves, ready to steal heaven with that last-ditch confession: “Lord, remember me when You come into your kingdom.”
Besides, the only reason Jesus was able to reach that one was because He Himself was dying beside him …
Oh.
Don’t even want to know what that might mean.
So, ‘m running. If I run fast enough, maybe I won’t hear it: “I’m still alive!”
It sounds so much, fading, like: “Remember me.”
We marvel that, sometimes – incredibly – people survive the Fall.
We forget, too often, how we did.
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