my 9/11 memorial
all this 9/11 memorial media blitzing is making me more than a little ill today... despite not having a tv or radio. seeing facebook status after facebook status of "Never forget!" is getting to me...
and not because I'm unamerican or unpatriotic or some cold hearted fucker who hates police and firemen and women and children... nor because I'm a brown skinned oppressed minority with a raging boner to take down The Man...
it's because ten years ago today, I bore witness to the end of my world... not THE world, MY world.
Sept 11, 2001 was the first day waking up away from home after my wife, Melanie, had told me she wanted me to leave... that she felt we'd grown too far apart, she was no longer in love with me, and she wanted to move on and live her own life without me.
Me? Not so much. She was my world, my everything... and I was a fool blinded by my own desires and dreams... because she was right. We had grown very much apart, and I was clinging so tightly to every little aspect of who she used to be and who we used to be with every fiber of my being... When she sat me down to talk, I fell to the floor and wailed and wailed to the skies and any gods that might hear me... I tensed up, curled into a fetal ball, snot and tears literally pouring from my face, a wordless moan constantly echoing from my throat until it went hoarse and then silent...
I slept at my mom's the following night, and arose the next day like a zombie... the world was black and grey, and I was empty of all but pain and confusion... my life was in question, and I was lost... I went through the motions of getting dressed and ready for work... at the time, I was the database manager for an abortion clinic in Oakland a few blocks from where we lived... where she lived... I worked in the basement on the opposite side of a sealed off door to the biohazard room... on really warm summer days, it got pretty ripe in there...
I went to the bus stop and caught the 38 Geary downtown to Powell St, then walked to the BART station and hopped on the train to Oakland.
I caught glimmers of fear and confusion in everyone's eyes and heard whispers of tragedy... people dying, some kind of bomb, a fear that we were all next... and in my head I was saying "please... please... I hope so... let me die..."
I didn't know what was going on, and I didn't much care... but whatever it was, if it put me out of my misery, I would have been grateful.
I got off the train, caught my bus heading north up Telegraph, got off at the stop across the street from our apartment, then walked up the hill to work... I let myself in, sat at my desk, turned on my computer, and opened up the CNN home page which is how I started every day.
I stared in disbelief at the images before me... the World Trade Center in flames... I turned on the radio and tuned into NPR and listened as the whole world around me threatened to collapse...
The phone rang. The director told me to see if anyone else was in the building, then shut it all down, lock up, and go home in case someone tried to bomb the clinic... because it inevitably happens any time there are big newsworthy crises... that's when the bomb threats start pouring in and on a few occasions when they are actually followed through on... but never anything crazy, just amateurs with molotov cocktails and the occasional homemade disaster... but always serious, and we didn't take chances with the women's lives who worked there (I was only the second male ever to be hired on staff in nearly 30 years) or who were our patients.
So I shut down the clinic and locked up... but I couldn't go home. (BART was shutting down service as there had been reports of San Francisco being a possible target of attacks.)
I went to my "old" home and called Melanie to tell her I was stuck in Oakland and let her know I was at the apartment... she said she guessed it was ok considering...
I turned on the tv and watched on CNN... saw the towers fall... saw the people jumping... saw the flames and the horror and the fear in everyone's eyes and in their throats... and I cried and wailed and sobbed until I had nothing left.
I didn't cry for New York. I didn't cry for the tragedy of human loss.
I cried because the world was cruel beyond imagination and everything I thought I knew was slipping away through my fingers and no matter how hard I clenched, I couldn't get a grip.
That is what September 11 means to me and what it always will mean to me... and no, I can never forget.
The next year was the hardest time of my life, but through all the pain of divorce... staggering injury... and then a debilitating illness... when I finally hit rock bottom and was faced with the choice between life and death, I chose life.
The rest is history, and I am forever grateful for every single moment.
I will never forget, for it is such that I have been shaped and am able to live through the joys of today.
as my motto goes:
Conceive Truth
Persevere Life
All Ways With Love
and not because I'm unamerican or unpatriotic or some cold hearted fucker who hates police and firemen and women and children... nor because I'm a brown skinned oppressed minority with a raging boner to take down The Man...
it's because ten years ago today, I bore witness to the end of my world... not THE world, MY world.
Sept 11, 2001 was the first day waking up away from home after my wife, Melanie, had told me she wanted me to leave... that she felt we'd grown too far apart, she was no longer in love with me, and she wanted to move on and live her own life without me.
Me? Not so much. She was my world, my everything... and I was a fool blinded by my own desires and dreams... because she was right. We had grown very much apart, and I was clinging so tightly to every little aspect of who she used to be and who we used to be with every fiber of my being... When she sat me down to talk, I fell to the floor and wailed and wailed to the skies and any gods that might hear me... I tensed up, curled into a fetal ball, snot and tears literally pouring from my face, a wordless moan constantly echoing from my throat until it went hoarse and then silent...
I slept at my mom's the following night, and arose the next day like a zombie... the world was black and grey, and I was empty of all but pain and confusion... my life was in question, and I was lost... I went through the motions of getting dressed and ready for work... at the time, I was the database manager for an abortion clinic in Oakland a few blocks from where we lived... where she lived... I worked in the basement on the opposite side of a sealed off door to the biohazard room... on really warm summer days, it got pretty ripe in there...
I went to the bus stop and caught the 38 Geary downtown to Powell St, then walked to the BART station and hopped on the train to Oakland.
I caught glimmers of fear and confusion in everyone's eyes and heard whispers of tragedy... people dying, some kind of bomb, a fear that we were all next... and in my head I was saying "please... please... I hope so... let me die..."
I didn't know what was going on, and I didn't much care... but whatever it was, if it put me out of my misery, I would have been grateful.
I got off the train, caught my bus heading north up Telegraph, got off at the stop across the street from our apartment, then walked up the hill to work... I let myself in, sat at my desk, turned on my computer, and opened up the CNN home page which is how I started every day.
I stared in disbelief at the images before me... the World Trade Center in flames... I turned on the radio and tuned into NPR and listened as the whole world around me threatened to collapse...
The phone rang. The director told me to see if anyone else was in the building, then shut it all down, lock up, and go home in case someone tried to bomb the clinic... because it inevitably happens any time there are big newsworthy crises... that's when the bomb threats start pouring in and on a few occasions when they are actually followed through on... but never anything crazy, just amateurs with molotov cocktails and the occasional homemade disaster... but always serious, and we didn't take chances with the women's lives who worked there (I was only the second male ever to be hired on staff in nearly 30 years) or who were our patients.
So I shut down the clinic and locked up... but I couldn't go home. (BART was shutting down service as there had been reports of San Francisco being a possible target of attacks.)
I went to my "old" home and called Melanie to tell her I was stuck in Oakland and let her know I was at the apartment... she said she guessed it was ok considering...
I turned on the tv and watched on CNN... saw the towers fall... saw the people jumping... saw the flames and the horror and the fear in everyone's eyes and in their throats... and I cried and wailed and sobbed until I had nothing left.
I didn't cry for New York. I didn't cry for the tragedy of human loss.
I cried because the world was cruel beyond imagination and everything I thought I knew was slipping away through my fingers and no matter how hard I clenched, I couldn't get a grip.
That is what September 11 means to me and what it always will mean to me... and no, I can never forget.
The next year was the hardest time of my life, but through all the pain of divorce... staggering injury... and then a debilitating illness... when I finally hit rock bottom and was faced with the choice between life and death, I chose life.
The rest is history, and I am forever grateful for every single moment.
I will never forget, for it is such that I have been shaped and am able to live through the joys of today.
as my motto goes:
Conceive Truth
Persevere Life
All Ways With Love