On The Eve, I Remember

I remember on Sept. 11, 2001 I woke up early to get Colleen ready for school and to kiss Greg good-bye before he went to work.  The TV wasn’t on because we didn’t have the money to pay for cable.  The radio wasn’t on because we didn’t have one that worked well.  I remember the phone ringing before 8AM and Greg answering it.  I remember him gasping and asking what the person was talking about.  I remember hearing, as he walked into another room, “No.  She can’t see it, we don’t have a TV right now.  Yes, I’ll take it with me.  Are you sure?  How did this happen?  Thank you for calling, and keep an eye on her today for me.”    I knew I was the *she/her* that they were talking about.  I knew something bad had happened.  I knew they were trying to protect me from something. But what they didn’t realize was that they couldn’t protect me from this.  Nobody could be protected from this.  I may have been spared the images and cries and visuals and information on that particular day, but the outpoor of evidence of what had happened couldn’t be crushed.  They would make themselves seen, and heard, and it was almost as if we could take this tragedy in with all of our senses.  Even those of us without cable in Bonney Lake, Washington.

I have to admit here that when the Challenger blew up I was home from school sick and I mentally and emotionally lost it after I saw the events unfold on TV.  I remember throwing up with such horror.  As a child then I remember needing my mom home right then to keep me grounded and not fly away on emotions.  To keep me from going crazy with confusion.  Those feelings stayed with me for days.  Years.  I wasn’t the same afterwards.  Again, when the OKC bombing happened I went back to that place.  I was paralyzed.  I couldn’t believe that something so horrible was happening again.  Another part of innocence inside of me was choked that day as it had been many years back with the Challenger.

On 9-11 more of me was choked.  Not just because of what was happening, but because I couldn’t take part of it.  I couldn’t watch it on TV or listen to it on the radio.  I was in my own little world, helpless.  To some this may be exactly the best place to be.  I can’t describe it.  As many of you can’t describe your feelings that day either.  I think we all went through the processes of grief, anger, despair, denial, fear.   It’s still very surreal to me to see pictures and video now.  I shake even now as I type this because I just can’t think of how in the world that happened.  My heart aches when I think of families that were never reunited.  Not that day anyway.  Not yet.  But one day, they will be.  Thank God for that.

I had a group of friends at the time that gathered a ridiculous amount of information (poems, songs, lyrics, pictures, quotes, etc)  and decided to put it all in a scrapbook.  I kept some of their postings but never did a book of my own.  I just didn’t think it was the healthiest thing for *me* to do.  But this one woman’s story comes back to me every year.  This is what my friend, Sheri, had to say about an experience she had with her son, Joseph who at the time was 12 (?), a year after the towers went down:

“Last night Joseph wanted to watch one of the 9/11 specials on tv.  I asked him several times if he was *sure* he wanted to watch and he assured me that he was sure.  During a break, I asked why he felt the need to watch, when it had affected him so deeply last year. 

He replied, “I figure if I watch it enough times, it won’t get to me any more.”

I could totally understand his reasoning, but also explained it to him this way, “Every time I see the space shuttle Challenger explode again, I cry.  Every time I see footage from Oklahoma City, I cry.  And every time I see things about 9/11, I cry too.  And someday, Joseph, you’re going to be my age and sitting on your own sofa with your own children, and they are going to show you their history book and ask you about this day, and you will cry again.  You will cry.  It will always get to you, because it was such a horrible thing.  I’m only sorry that it had to happen during your lifetime.”

I know Joseph is crying.  I know thousands are crying.  I know that I am crying, but it may not be the same cry or the intense cry of the past. Crying may not cure anything.  It may not solve anything.  It won’t take away or bring back anything.  But it helps us remember that we are human.  We are people that can let our hearts go out to strangers and to those strangers families and so on and so on.  Our tears remind us that not only were we wronged, but that we also came together for a time and that we proved strong. And sometimes, crying puts us into action.  Crying is good.

There will be more tragedy to come.  But there will also be more taking care of each other,  more ‘mourning with those who mourn’, more heroes, more triumph, and more strength.

God does bless America.