It is with a heavy heart that I sit here going through photographs, reliving memories, almost hearing the chime on a Sunday morning as I ate a lovely breakfast at a sidewalk cafe directly across the Seine. I videotaped it so I could remember the sound. I’m so glad I did. Notre Dame, as they keep saying on CNN, is much more than a building. More than a church. It is unbelievably stunning in architecture, its spire rising high, its Rose window gleaming, the flying buttresses giving it strength and dimension. I have walked along the banks of the Seine past Notre Dame dozens of times in my three visits to Paris. It’s simply “there” – and we thought – always would be. It was such an iconic place, one began to take it for granted and although I enjoyed the exterior beauty during my last visit, I hate to admit I can’t recall going back inside. Shame on me for taking it for granted that it would simply be there when I returned. Like so many things in life, we simply expect they will be there when we return. And yet, perhaps not …
We await word of the damage in daylight. Once the flames are doused; once they can get into the nave, we will know if it can ever be repaired. It was devastating watching the spire fall; horrible to see the steel scaffolding instead of the beautiful wood facade and roof. It will never be the same. It may be rebuilt and in twenty years if my children return, perhaps they will find a grand structure similar to the one destroyed today. But it will never be the same.
My first visit was with my son, the second with my daughter, and my third alone in an apartment for three wonderful weeks of walking the Seine day and night. I’m going to post a poem I wrote during that first visit and some photos we took while there.
Connie Wesala 