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Eleventh of September 2001: Reflections on Faith, Hope, and Charity

On the Eleventh of September, Ann and I left a meeting in Belfast, Northern Ireland en route to another medical meeting in Dublin. We had just visited Dr. Patrick Johnston at The Cancer Research Centre of Queen's University Belfast and Belfast City Hospital where he and his dedicated colleagues are forming a dynamic comprehensive cancer center. It was on that hope-filled note that we drove past a police station surrounded by barbed wire—an emblem of past sectarian violence. It was a bright, clear September's day...a joy to behold.

It was during lunch at about 2 o'clock at one of Ireland's roadside pubs that our waitress rushed over and pulled us to a television where we were horrified to see that the first World Trade Center tower had already suffered a mortal blow.

Everything went into slow motion. Our daughter, son-in-law, and two grandchildren had moved just two months ago from Battery Park City—two blocks from "ground zero." The World Trade Center had become our "other home" ...with precious memories of walks, shopping, and the hide-and-seek we played in the lobbies of our two friendly giant towers.

The rest is engraved in all our memories...a memory we wish we could erase.

Ann and I gave up our Aer Lingus scheduled flight back to the States so that bereaved families could go to New York as soon as international airspace opened. Many of New York's courageous firefighters and policemen are of Irish extraction so there are scores of families in Ireland who lost loved ones. They deserved prime consideration.

Ireland was a healing place during these calamitous times. A country grounded within a deeply spiritual center, the churches and synagogues were filled to overflowing. The entire country came to a standstill on Friday, September 14th...in silent tribute and muted memorial for the souls of those who lost their lives under unspeakable circumstances and in prayerful petition that their loved ones and friends might be consoled. Eyes were cast heavenward in petition and knees were bent in prayerful genuflection. Everything was closed...not a pub was open...all day and night. No one can remember anything quite like it.

Four days belated, we landed at Boston's Logan Airport, a "crime scene" resembling Belfast under siege. There were more men in uniforms than there were passengers. We passed through four metal detectors, had our bodies and bags searched twice...and missed our connecting flight to North Carolina.

When we finally arrived home close to midnight, we began to unpack and all of a sudden I remembered the gnarled shamrock rootlet that my cousins, Martha and Mary, had dug from their Achill Island garden and given to Ann. Just looking at that small rootlet became for us a source of hope. The freedom we cherish in the United States, and for which generations have made the ultimate sacrifice, is also rooted in the soil and souls of those who look upon the shamrock as a symbol of Faith, Hope, and Charity.

Ann tenderly planted Saint Patrick's symbol of Ireland in America's good earth...and within only a day, fresh shoots were seen and by now the first shamrocks have unfolded their tripartite leaves and a cluster of tiny pink flowers is about to bloom.

This is a time for personal reflection...a time for a reaffirmation of faith and resolve. As I reflect on what I can do for my country and our world, I realize how blessed I am to be able to work for a noble, life-sparing cause: the cure of cancer and the improved care of cancer patients.

I also know that goodness shall prevail...we must keep the Faith with renewed Hope and abiding Charity!

As Saint Patrick said, "God bless us all, every one."

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