II Years Later
16 comments | September 11th, 2012
(by Mir from WouldaShoulda)
I hesitate to talk about my memories of 9/11, usually. I wasn't there. I didn't lose any loved ones. Although I'll never forget that day, I am wary of making anyone who was touched more personally feel like I'm co-opting their tragedy, as it were. Is that considerate or just weird? But now that we've reached the 11th anniversary of 9/11, I can't help joining the rest of the country in looking back and comparing then and now.
It's funny; eleven years ago today was my daughter's first day of "real" preschool. She'd done some couple-day-a-week programs, but for the first time she was going to go five days a week to a new program. She was—even at the tender age of 3—fiercely independent and thrilled to be headed out. She was wearing her favorite outfit (a purple dress with matching leggings) and was impatient with me making her hold a sign and let me take her picture. In that picture she wear a gigantic smile and a backpack almost as big as she was. Finally we were on our way, and after I dropped her off, I took her baby brother to his first day of daycare. This was going to be the first time in years that I wasn't home taking care of kids 24/7; I would have two full mornings each week to work on my writing and I couldn't wait to return to a quiet house and get to work.
By the time I got home, though, my then-husband had called to tell me to turn on the TV. I ended up spending my "work" morning glued to the television, fighting the urge to go pick my kids back up right away. Ultimately I realized that I didn't want them seeing this, so I watched until it was time to pick up the kids, then turned the TV off.
As the country tried to figure out how to respond, I quietly, shamefully, was grateful that I hadn't known anyone who was there. The closest I got was that one of my friends had an old friend whose husband worked at Cantor Fitzgerald. Even then, his death was theoretical to me, as the others were. It wasn't someone I knew. It was a general tragedy in my mind, a big big bogeyman of BADNESS and fear, but it didn't take anyone I, personally, loved. And what were the odds of such a horrible day repeating? I wouldn't. It couldn't. And we didn't live in a major city. We were safe. My family was safe.
I have a very clear memory of putting my kids to bed that night and offering up a silent prayer. The world might be a dangerous and unpredictable place, but these two children, all chubby cheeks and dimpled knuckles and raucous giggles, I would do whatever I needed to to keep them safe. Please help me keep them safe, I thought, as I tucked them in and reminded myself that my family had escaped this horrible day unscathed.
Eleven years ago today I was afraid of terrorists, while my daughter was so excited to be headed off on a new adventure that she could barely stop laughing and dancing long enough to let me take a picture. Today, I know to leave myself plenty of time to be felt up by the TSA if I have to fly somewhere, and my daughter has been living in a hospital for three months. No one expected an attack on the World Trade Center. I never thought to be afraid of terrorism before 9/11. And I never knew I would one day still be able to picture my 3-year-old dancing around in her favorite purple dress when ten years later her life has taken a turn we never foresaw, casting a shadow over her future.
I'm a little ray of sunshine today, I know.
But follow me, here: For me, there's a certain peace in this day. Maybe that's a luxury I can have because I didn't lose anyone that day, and I fully admit that. But eleven years post-tragedy, with the long view, I see… triumph over tragedy. Life that went on. I remember reading about the children of 9/11 last year and marveling at how their parents went on, how their lives were still "regular" in many ways, even though they'd been raised in the aftermath of a tragedy that robbed their families of a father. People keep going. Life goes on, and good things still happen.
There's a comfort in that, all these years later. Especially as I'm missing my own kiddo, and wishing she was home with us. Especially as I'm remembering how eleven years ago, I had no idea that planes could take down towers or that my own child might not end up okay, despite my best efforts to take good care of her. Bad things happen, unexpectedly. Tragedy doesn't send a "save the date" card so that you have time to prepare. None of us has a crystal ball, so all we can do is try to enjoy the good stuff to the fullest and not let the bad stuff take over or destroy our will to go on.
Optimism and acceptance don't always come easily to me. But today, especially, I'm going to try to stay in the moment and appreciate the good things.
Will you do anything different today? Does a tragedy on the scale of 9/11 make you more appreciative of what you have or just more fearful?
(More Mir Here)
16 comments
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- What to expect when it all goes sideways | Woulda Coulda Shoulda - [...] over at Feel More Better. It’s also the 11th anniversary of 9/11, and so I am thinking about what ...
Chris
Posted on September 11, 2012
On 9/11 all I wanted to do was get home to my loved ones, to “put eyes” on them. I didn’t feel better until I had touched base with the tribe that is scattered across the states and globe. I think this anniversary brings a little bit of that up and I send a few more “just saying hi” emails, make a few more phone calls, and hug my husband a little tighter, every single year.
We were crazy fortunate that our loved ones on site got out, but even if you didn’t have loved ones there, the USA and our friends were attacked. That? Happened to all of us and the cracks and resulting healing will leave us stronger, I am certain.
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Megan
Posted on September 11, 2012
I have a complicated experience of 9/11 and still have difficulty sorting it out. [don't you hate it when you write and delete, write and delete, write and delete...? I end up feeling that it means I shouldn't be saying whatever it is at all - that this isn't the time, the place, those aren't the words. So I'm not]
Like you though, I am choosing – actively choosing – optimism. And it is a hard choice, a constant choice, but I think that makes it more worthwhile for me because it is deliberate and thoughtful. I am choosing, against the evidence of loss and violence and hate, to see the transcendence of love and peace and community.
When I was in Baltimore recently I heard a radio ad describing an organization or a movement that was trying to rally people to volunteer, to do good work, in the name of 9/11. I’d forgotten that until just now (my bad excuse is that it’s been a busy few weeks), but I think that idea sums up my optimism. The reason that good things will happen is that good people are committed to MAKE them happen.
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Sharkey
Posted on September 11, 2012
When 9/11 happened, I was in the midst of being diagnosed with breast cancer (I officially heard the words, “You have cancer” on 9/12/01). My own personal crisis meant that I didn’t experience 9/11 the same way most Americans did. I just couldn’t bear to deal with it on top of everything else, and I didn’t watch much TV coverage of it. But at the same time, it gave me resolve. As I watched, I thought, “Those people didn’t have a chance. But I do.” It changed my perspective about the hand I’d been dealt.
Eleven years (and a recurrence, many surgeries, rounds of chemo, and radiation) later, I’m still here and cancer-free. Today I’m thinking about my second chance. What am I doing with my life to make it count?
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Mir
Posted on September 11, 2012
I love this, Sharkey. Rock on with your bad self, girl.
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el-e-e
Posted on September 11, 2012
Oh, my, yes, I will do something different. Today does serve as a reminder that you just don’t know what’s going to happen or when. It’s cliche, but I definitely want to hold tighter to everyone I love, especially my kids. Thanks for this beautiful post. I haven’t wanted to read many of them today but I knew yours would be a good choice.
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kakaty
Posted on September 11, 2012
Like you, I didn’t have a direct connection to anyone lost in 9/11 and I feel the way you do when I talk about it. I was all of 24 and we had just closed on our very first house the day before… I worked odd hours (noon – 10 PM) so I went to the new house early that morning to clean. I didn’t hear anything about the attacks until later in the morning, when I was on my way to Sam’s Club to get a new shop-vac. I was in the car when they announced a hijacked plane flying over PA (I was in OH) and remember screaming “They’re getting closer!”. I walked into Sam’s – to a bank of huge TVs surrounded by about 2 dozen people there as the store opened – just as the South Tower fell. Oh, those days and weeks were awful. I still can’t see photos of 9/11 without that same feeling of fear and helplessness washing over me.
I think now I’m both more appreciative AND more fearful. I think as a whole we judge a lot quicker and more harshly. But, for me, I know that I’m so very grateful for everything I have.
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karen
Posted on September 11, 2012
Two of my childhood friends and neighbors died – they were firefighters who were crushed in the tower on that horrible day. Every anniversary I thank them, silently again, for their heroic selfless acts..and I send up a prayer and hope they know we haven’t forgotten them.
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suburbancorrespondent
Posted on September 11, 2012
No, we haven’t forgotten them. Not at all.
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Arnebya
Posted on September 11, 2012
I get your not wanting to talk about it for fear that someone “really” affected that day will think it’s you saying “I survived this.” I feel the same way. In a comment I made to someone earlier, I felt the need to keep saying “but my remembrance of that day is insignificant, inconsenquential. I didn’t lose anyone.” What I remember though, is fear. I worked 10 minutes from the White House. When the plane hit the Pentagon and we all fled the building, trying to get home was absolute chaos (DC traffic isn’t great most of the time, but on this day it was rush hour PLUS). I didn’t do much different today. I’m used to praying before boarding the train now and being wary of people who are perfectly normal people, but people I’ve been “taught” to think could possibly have a gun, a bomb, a knife, an explosive device. I am appreciative yet I am incredibly fearful. I work hard at keeping the fear at bay because living under it would be stifling.
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HeatherHPD
Posted on September 12, 2012
Arnebya,
I think defining “really” affected by that day includes your experience! Having to evacuate, being so near a crash site, anticipating your building might be next…. that is affected! Grief of a loss is painful and difficult. The loss of some we love is especially difficutl and horribly painful. Yet, (in my humble opinion) you lost your sense of freedom, security, trust how you manage simply going to work is tragic! Wow! Thoughts are with you and your community.
Heather
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Cathy
Posted on September 11, 2012
I think just about everyone holds their loved ones closer when thinking of 9/11. But one lesson I learned from 9/11 is that there isn’t always an answer.
I was a freshman in college in fall 2001, an international studies major. Like most 18-year-olds, I was pretty sure that I could dig up an answer to any question; if I didn’t know it myself, a teacher would, or maybe I could find it on the internet. I was working at a law firm that year, and heard the news at my desk. Everyone told me that my university would cancel classes, but I didn’t care. I felt like I had to leave work and go to my regularly scheduled international studies class so I could talk to my professor; the only word I could think of all day was “WHY?” and had to hear her tell me the reason.
A few of my classmates had the same idea, and we collected expectantly outside the classroom door and waited for our professor. She of course never came that day, and we eventually quietly gave up and went home one by one.
I like things to be cut and dry, black and white. I don’t like gray areas, or the unknown. The last 11 years have at least taught me that you have to live with all shades of life, but I didn’t know how to live like that at 18. In retrospect, I think 9/11 is responsible for me changing my focus from international studies to English. I think my logic was that if you disagree over something in the global sphere, people can get killed, but there are rarely fights if two people disagree over Faulkner.
So for me, 9/11 is a time to remember what happened and realize yet again that there are no rulebooks to life. That you’ll never be able to understand some things.
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suburbancorrespondent
Posted on September 11, 2012
As the kids grow and branch out, I think parenthood is just the same lesson over and over: “You can’t keep them safe. You can’t save anyone from themselves. You really have no control.” But I am glad that I at least had the illusion of control when my kids were still little, on 9/11.
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Kim
Posted on September 11, 2012
9/11 happened to all of us. I didn’t lose anyone personally, and I don’t have strong ties to NYC. But while the tragedy wasn’t personal to me, I experienced it. It was galvanizing, for all Americans, for all of us in the free and democratic world. I won’t pretend to understand the loss of those who were personally touched, but I can grieve with them and for them. And I do, every year. Cried in the car today listening to the names being read, and Taps being played on the White House lawn. Tearing up typing this.
But galvanization hardens us and changes us, too. I haven’t lived up to all the pledges I made in the aftermath (although I keep plugging at the physical fitness thing) but I have become much more active politically. I speak out about what matters to me. I do my best to make my country and my world a better place to be.
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Anonymous
Posted on September 12, 2012
What I remember is that I had just gotten out of a war. The war which lasted throughout my childhood and during which I lived on the front lines. I remember writing a pleading post somewhere online, worried about the future. I was telling people, please don’t let yourselves get caught up by revenge. Please, don’t let there be another war. I know how these things start, I’ve been there, this is bad, bad, bad.
Another war came, but this one was somewhere far away in the land of sand and brown people. It didn’t touch me. Not this time. It didn’t touch most people. Especially those in the USA, except for the soldiers who never came home, and their families. And those faraway brown people in some faraway dusty land.
Maybe this is an unwanted perspective on this day. Maybe this is just the right perspective to remember now, to remind us that nothing is simple or easily, neatly tucked away. I won’t apologize for writing it, but I’m not looking to hurt anyone or be disrespectful. It is just something to think about.
I discovered this song by Lucy Kaplansky years later, and I always cry at the lyrics, “I’m not one of them, no matter what they say.” Big unstoppable tears. Even now as I write this.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qtkQ9QhgGgE
Because that brown person, that was me, despite the whiteness of my skin. Despite the fact that I was a child and had no choice in what armies did around me. And today I feel like that person again, and I’m afraid I’ll never be counted on the side of the good and the righteous.
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Anonymous
Posted on September 12, 2012
What I remember is that I had just gotten out of a war. The war which lasted throughout my childhood and during which I lived on the front lines. I remember writing a pleading post somewhere online, worried about the future. I was telling people, please don’t let yourselves get caught up by revenge. Please, don’t let there be another war. I know how these things start, I’ve been there, this is bad, bad, bad.
Another war came, but this one was somewhere far away in the land of sand and brown people. It didn’t touch me. Not this time. It didn’t touch most people. Especially those in the USA, except for the soldiers who never came home, and their families. And those faraway brown people in some faraway dusty land.
Maybe this is an unwanted perspective on this day. Maybe this is just the right perspective to remember now, to remind us that nothing is simple or easily, neatly tucked away. I won’t apologize for writing it, but I’m not looking to hurt anyone or be disrespectful. It is just something to think about.
I discovered this song by Lucy Kaplansky years later, “Land of the Living,” and I always cry at the lyrics, “I’m not one of them, no matter what they say.” Big unstoppable tears. Even now as I write this.
youtu.be/qtkQ9QhgGgE
Because that brown person, that was me, despite the whiteness of my skin. Despite the fact that I was a child and had no choice in what armies did around me. And today I feel like that person again, and I’m afraid I’ll never be counted on the side of the good and the righteous.
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Susie
Posted on September 12, 2012
I too felt like my experience was puny by comparison. I was headed out the door to get my hair cut- my senior year of high school. In the middle of the country, everyone had a cousin, nephew, someone that was in the military that they couldn’t hear from. Later, I discovered that my future father-in-law was in the Pentagon that day. Such s strange feeling to just keep moving despite the fear and chaos- but that’s what I’ve always done in my personal life nightmares as well as country-wide ones. What else is there to do, but keep on?
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