memories – Christa Avampato

Wreath at 9/11 Memorial, NYC. Photo by Christa Avampato.

It’s my tradition to visit the 9/11 Memorial on September 12th to honor all of the challenges our city has faced every day since that tragic day. Though many people are always there, it often maintains a quiet that can be hard to find in that area of NYC. People put their hands on the names etched into the panels surrounding the pools of water flowing into the ground outlining the footprints of the 2 towers.

Last week, I read a piece where a teenager insightfully said he believes people who were alive during 9/11 look at that memorial and see something that’s no longer there, existing only in their memories. It’s such a true and beautiful observation.

I am always surprised when I go to that area now because it’s never how I imagine it. When I think of that area, I recall the many, many years it was an open pit with construction crews facing numerous hurdles while building the memorial and museum that honors everyone we lost and everyone impacted by 9/11. I worked at American Express for 4 years, and every day I walked over a footbridge that crossed that construction site. All of that is gone now, but it continues to live in my mind from those formative years of my career.

Every year, I’m reminded of how powerful memory is. How memory is often just as alive, if not more so, than what physically exists in the present. I think about how much these beloved people have missed. How much they are missed. How much they will always be missed. I think about how many people are still impacted by illnesses caused by that terrible day and the many days after. And how all of them, and all who love them, deserve justice and are still waiting for it.

Photos of the 9/11 Memorial, the Oculus, and the light beams symbolizing the towers blazing toward the sky last week from the roof of my apartment building in Brooklyn. Photos by Christa Avampato.

Phinny’s cherry blossoms in Central Park on May 2, 2025. Photo by me.

Unexpected laptop issues brought me into the office on Friday afternoon. Our wonderful IT department got my laptop fixed and then I popped down to see my friend whom I work for to have a conversation about a number of different topics. It lasted a couple of hours – much longer than I expected! – so it was the end of the work day by the time we finished up.

Though it was a hot and sticky afternoon, I was close to Central Park. The weather has been a bit of a mess on the weekends so my friend, Ashley, and I didn’t get to see Phinny’s cherry blossoms together this year. I decided to venture up to the park’s reservoir to see what was left of them and walk the path that Phinny and I walked so many times over our years together.

As I wound my way through the park from Central Park South to 86th Street, memories lived around every bend. Picnics. Concerts. Softball games. Walks and talks. Museums. Some tears and moments of sadness. That’s the stuff of every life – joy and difficulty.

I passed by my favorite tree in the park, a great hulking beauty perfect for sitting and watching the world go by. The Pinetum that Phinny loved to nose around in. The apartment on 81st street perched high above the American Museum of Natural History that Phineas and I always thought would be the dream apartment for us to live in. The archways that always feel like portals. Inspirations for my Emerson Page books. Central Park holds all of it.

Though the cherry blossoms around the reservoir were a bit past their prime, Phinny’s spirit and I didn’t care. It’s such a beautiful part of the park and we spent so many happy days there. Some blossoms were still blooming. The petals were pooled around the tree trunks – how Phinny loved to scoop up those petals with his prominent snoot, just like my friend, Ashley, showed in the watercolor of him she made for me! On the rare occasion that Phinny and I would sit under those trees – he and I are much more into exploring than sitting – he’d look at me with his big soulful eyes and happy smile. Then after a few moments, he’d try to wander over to someone else’s blanket to invite himself to their picnic and see what they had on offer. What a hound!

My eyes teared up and I laughed thinking of all his antics. I was happy-sad. So grateful for every single one of those memories and so sad that our time together in that way has passed.

That’s the thing about grief: if we’re lucky, it always stings at least a little. We never get over missing someone we love. Thankfully, the world conspires to keep them close to us, memories everywhere and signs in everything.

Photos below from my walk through Central Park.