Not Forgotten
Where were you, 9/11? I was living in RI with my ex husband. We were having the veterenarian come and pay a housecall to our cats. John was usually always present when the cats were being examined. This time, I found it odd that he instead, sat in front of the television, and only got up to pay the doctor.
I went out to the livingroom, and he said "Jean, you've got to see this". It was after the first plane struck, and before the second tower was. We sat in mute horror. He got up, and went to work, despite the nauseous sick feeling in his stomach. I sat, and watched. Then logged on the internet to check on some friends who I knew worked close to the World Trade Center site. Eventually, they logged on from their laptops, or cellphones, from wherever they could, or called other friends, and had them let me know they were okay. Which, odd as it may sound, seemed just a marginal relief. How could I feel happy, and secure that MY friends were safe, when so many people were losing their husbands, daughters, sons, brothers, sisters, wives? Even watching them toss themselves out of windows to escape the flames? Or knowing they were smothered beneath layers of rubble, possibly still struggling to live? Yes, I was relieved, but, that sense of relief, on that day, in that moment, was short lived, and bittersweet.
I went back to the livingroom. Stayed there for the next few hours, just watching. Mute, Sick. Stunned.
Eventually, John came home. We talked a little. Then I decided I had to get out of the house. Just had to.
I remember walking outside, and looking up at how incredibly beautiful the sky was that day. With just the barest tinge of autumn in the air. I watched the sky, wondering if more planes filled with explosives were somewhere up there. I knew, logically, that by that time, air space was virtually emptied out by the restrictions. And yet, each time I did hear a motor, for a very long time to come, I wondered where that plane was headed, and whether or not, it was one of our own.
I walked down the road to the catholic church. I knew it would be quiet in there. Quiet. Cool. Peaceful. I entered. Only the priest was there. Gathering bibles. I asked him if I could sit, and think, and pray. He said people were always welcome, for prayer. I sat down, and looked at the statue of the Mother Mary. Who is a Goddess, in her own right. And to me, at that moment, she did present the Goddess, and she was mixed at that moment with a memory of Lady Liberty, and of Lady Justice. And her arms were outstretched, and her face looked sad. I was struck for a moment by the urge to run to her, and embrace her. Instead, I just sat, and thought, and prayed, and asked..."Why???". And yes, I wondered if it was indeed, the end of the world.
A refrain from an old Christian song played through my head, repeatedly. "In these days of confused situations. In these nights of a restless remorse. When the heart and the soul of a nation. Lay wounded and cold as a corpse. From the grave of the innocent Adam. Comes a song bringing joy to the sad. Oh your cries have been heard and the ransome. Has been paid up in full, be ye glad.". Odd. But that song seemed to fit so perfectly, as far as talking about how it felt that day. Our innocense had died that day. A little of our arrogance died that day. And it felt like we were all, each a little bit, in our own way, there at Ground Zero..dying a little inside.
And then I walked home, after a time. I was filled with a feeling that I had to do something. Donate blood? Couldn't. Had a fever. Go there, and work? Not likely. Physical limitations prohibited. What could I do?
I remember those spontaneous vigils, where we all gathered on our front porches at a specific time, and lit candles. That was such an incredibly touching thing to be witness to. All around the country, and even indeed, around the world. Billions, and billions of candles lit, simultaneously.
I remember the cars with the American Flags streaming behind them. I remember people being kinder, and gentler with eachother. I remember the awful awful weight that the air seemed to have to it.
I began to organize a vigil for my town. Bought tons of candles. Organized speakers. Got the use of a huge flag to be held up between two fireengines. Organized flower donations, boyscouts to serve hot chocolate. And when the night came. I sat on stage, and gave a speech. And others gave theirs. And then we lit our candles, sang our songs. Read off the names of people who had passed. And cried. And then went back to their homes.
I was written up in the paper. And I had people contacting me for days after. I remember being struck by the fact that some of the people who had donated flowers and such to the event were actually calling me wondering when I was going to post a thank you ad in the local newspaper for all those who helped out and donated things. Especially a local florist. I felt slapped in the face by that, and angry. I had organized the event, where nobody else had yet gathered their whits to do so. I had gone out of my way, in a town where I knew noone with the exception of my ex husbands family, to do something for the community, for my country (and yes, for my own inner healing), and here some local mercheants were wanting to turn it into an advertising moment. I was outraged. No, I wasn't going to print the ad. I thanked the participants AT the vigil. Anything else, imo, was merely selfish, and self motivating, and they should have been ashamed of themselves. In a moment where our country was so broken, so wounded, so in need of peace and healing, for these people to ASK to have a written thanks in order to advertise their "goodness" and their product, was disgusting to me. In times like this, people are supposed to give, WITHOUT regard for how they are thanked. Me? It embarrassed me to be in the newspaper. It embarrassed me to have any attention drawn to me at all. I did it, ONLY because nobody else was putting anything together yet. And I felt I HAD to do something. That I couldn't sit there any longer, I had to do something to help myself heal from what I viewed on 9/11, and help others heal a bit too. Grieving, together, as a community, in my mind, is one of the best ways one can acheive a measure of healing. Realizing that you are not alone in your thoughts, and your pain.
9/11 changed me in some fundamental ways. And it taught me many lessons.
The first is that none of us is ever as safe as we think we are. What we come to rely on, in moments, can be taken from us. On a clear blue day, a perfect day, when we think we are far beyond the touch of arms of death, destruction, or chaos.
The second, is that when those moments happen, we must reach out, not only to those whom we know and love, but also to something greater than ourselves. Either your community, your church, your personal God, or Gods. Your national identity. We need something "greater than the self" in order to comprehend, and process what is going on at that moment. In order to feel some sense of order to things, or at least a sense of comfort, or inspiration in those horrible moments.
The third, is that nobody's contribution, no matter how small, is too small. And that nobody should wait until someone else makes a move, to pitch in, and help. Whether using my example..an outsider in a small town with no town connections and roots organizing their 9/11 vigil, or using the example of many rescue workers and doctors who went to 9/11 that day, by their own initiative, we all pitch in. And you don't have to be a hero to do so. You don't have to be well known, or well connected, or have a specific talent that you are aware of. You simply need to reach out. And then the universe gets behind you, and aids you in your endeavor.
The next, how important it is to savor the sweet moments in life.
The next, that we MUST question our government. We MUST question how these things happen. And we can do that, even amidst, and perhaps even ESPECIALLY amidst pain and grieving.
I have seen though, how this, unfortunately was something we did not do enough of in he time immediately following 9/11.
That day is forever etched in my memory. The lives lost that day will never be forgotten.
Nor will the heart of innocense that we felt before that day, ever fully be restored.
May liberty smile upon us, once more.
I went out to the livingroom, and he said "Jean, you've got to see this". It was after the first plane struck, and before the second tower was. We sat in mute horror. He got up, and went to work, despite the nauseous sick feeling in his stomach. I sat, and watched. Then logged on the internet to check on some friends who I knew worked close to the World Trade Center site. Eventually, they logged on from their laptops, or cellphones, from wherever they could, or called other friends, and had them let me know they were okay. Which, odd as it may sound, seemed just a marginal relief. How could I feel happy, and secure that MY friends were safe, when so many people were losing their husbands, daughters, sons, brothers, sisters, wives? Even watching them toss themselves out of windows to escape the flames? Or knowing they were smothered beneath layers of rubble, possibly still struggling to live? Yes, I was relieved, but, that sense of relief, on that day, in that moment, was short lived, and bittersweet.
I went back to the livingroom. Stayed there for the next few hours, just watching. Mute, Sick. Stunned.
Eventually, John came home. We talked a little. Then I decided I had to get out of the house. Just had to.
I remember walking outside, and looking up at how incredibly beautiful the sky was that day. With just the barest tinge of autumn in the air. I watched the sky, wondering if more planes filled with explosives were somewhere up there. I knew, logically, that by that time, air space was virtually emptied out by the restrictions. And yet, each time I did hear a motor, for a very long time to come, I wondered where that plane was headed, and whether or not, it was one of our own.
I walked down the road to the catholic church. I knew it would be quiet in there. Quiet. Cool. Peaceful. I entered. Only the priest was there. Gathering bibles. I asked him if I could sit, and think, and pray. He said people were always welcome, for prayer. I sat down, and looked at the statue of the Mother Mary. Who is a Goddess, in her own right. And to me, at that moment, she did present the Goddess, and she was mixed at that moment with a memory of Lady Liberty, and of Lady Justice. And her arms were outstretched, and her face looked sad. I was struck for a moment by the urge to run to her, and embrace her. Instead, I just sat, and thought, and prayed, and asked..."Why???". And yes, I wondered if it was indeed, the end of the world.
A refrain from an old Christian song played through my head, repeatedly. "In these days of confused situations. In these nights of a restless remorse. When the heart and the soul of a nation. Lay wounded and cold as a corpse. From the grave of the innocent Adam. Comes a song bringing joy to the sad. Oh your cries have been heard and the ransome. Has been paid up in full, be ye glad.". Odd. But that song seemed to fit so perfectly, as far as talking about how it felt that day. Our innocense had died that day. A little of our arrogance died that day. And it felt like we were all, each a little bit, in our own way, there at Ground Zero..dying a little inside.
And then I walked home, after a time. I was filled with a feeling that I had to do something. Donate blood? Couldn't. Had a fever. Go there, and work? Not likely. Physical limitations prohibited. What could I do?
I remember those spontaneous vigils, where we all gathered on our front porches at a specific time, and lit candles. That was such an incredibly touching thing to be witness to. All around the country, and even indeed, around the world. Billions, and billions of candles lit, simultaneously.
I remember the cars with the American Flags streaming behind them. I remember people being kinder, and gentler with eachother. I remember the awful awful weight that the air seemed to have to it.
I began to organize a vigil for my town. Bought tons of candles. Organized speakers. Got the use of a huge flag to be held up between two fireengines. Organized flower donations, boyscouts to serve hot chocolate. And when the night came. I sat on stage, and gave a speech. And others gave theirs. And then we lit our candles, sang our songs. Read off the names of people who had passed. And cried. And then went back to their homes.
I was written up in the paper. And I had people contacting me for days after. I remember being struck by the fact that some of the people who had donated flowers and such to the event were actually calling me wondering when I was going to post a thank you ad in the local newspaper for all those who helped out and donated things. Especially a local florist. I felt slapped in the face by that, and angry. I had organized the event, where nobody else had yet gathered their whits to do so. I had gone out of my way, in a town where I knew noone with the exception of my ex husbands family, to do something for the community, for my country (and yes, for my own inner healing), and here some local mercheants were wanting to turn it into an advertising moment. I was outraged. No, I wasn't going to print the ad. I thanked the participants AT the vigil. Anything else, imo, was merely selfish, and self motivating, and they should have been ashamed of themselves. In a moment where our country was so broken, so wounded, so in need of peace and healing, for these people to ASK to have a written thanks in order to advertise their "goodness" and their product, was disgusting to me. In times like this, people are supposed to give, WITHOUT regard for how they are thanked. Me? It embarrassed me to be in the newspaper. It embarrassed me to have any attention drawn to me at all. I did it, ONLY because nobody else was putting anything together yet. And I felt I HAD to do something. That I couldn't sit there any longer, I had to do something to help myself heal from what I viewed on 9/11, and help others heal a bit too. Grieving, together, as a community, in my mind, is one of the best ways one can acheive a measure of healing. Realizing that you are not alone in your thoughts, and your pain.
9/11 changed me in some fundamental ways. And it taught me many lessons.
The first is that none of us is ever as safe as we think we are. What we come to rely on, in moments, can be taken from us. On a clear blue day, a perfect day, when we think we are far beyond the touch of arms of death, destruction, or chaos.
The second, is that when those moments happen, we must reach out, not only to those whom we know and love, but also to something greater than ourselves. Either your community, your church, your personal God, or Gods. Your national identity. We need something "greater than the self" in order to comprehend, and process what is going on at that moment. In order to feel some sense of order to things, or at least a sense of comfort, or inspiration in those horrible moments.
The third, is that nobody's contribution, no matter how small, is too small. And that nobody should wait until someone else makes a move, to pitch in, and help. Whether using my example..an outsider in a small town with no town connections and roots organizing their 9/11 vigil, or using the example of many rescue workers and doctors who went to 9/11 that day, by their own initiative, we all pitch in. And you don't have to be a hero to do so. You don't have to be well known, or well connected, or have a specific talent that you are aware of. You simply need to reach out. And then the universe gets behind you, and aids you in your endeavor.
The next, how important it is to savor the sweet moments in life.
The next, that we MUST question our government. We MUST question how these things happen. And we can do that, even amidst, and perhaps even ESPECIALLY amidst pain and grieving.
I have seen though, how this, unfortunately was something we did not do enough of in he time immediately following 9/11.
That day is forever etched in my memory. The lives lost that day will never be forgotten.
Nor will the heart of innocense that we felt before that day, ever fully be restored.
May liberty smile upon us, once more.