Time-warp to a few years ago..

[tari_kala]

This was originally posted by me in my other journal on 9/11's first anniversary.

Hundreds of posts, thousands of speeches, millions of tears.

May your shoulders be lightened this day.

Comments

[drusilladom]

I did not cry on September 11th, 2001, nor have I on any subsequent anniversaries specifically for the reason you stated above: I would not know how, and even if I did, it wouldn't be enough. I often find the human ability to express emotions to be frustratin, especially in a case like this. How unworthy a few tears would seem, even if I never dried my eyes. The mere idea that we can truly mourn our loss, be it with moments of silence or greatly attended memorials, is blasphemous. We will never even comprehend what occured that day let alone make up for it some how. And that is probably the worst part of it all, that we can do nothing. Humans are inventive creatures, we like to fix things, to make them better. But there is no invention that will fix this, for as advanced as we are, no on have ever found the cure for a broken heart.

And still I write, because it's the only way I know of to cope. It won't turn back time or heal the wounded, but it will ease the pain, and if nothing else, make sure that it is remembered. So if and when that day comes that we are truly free...we will still remember why being free is a good thing. By remembering our past, we create our future.

[practicallyfame]

Kat, remember when it happened? We were in Senora Godbout's classroom, and Ms. Bergeron told us to turn on the television. We did. We saw Peter Jennings, I think, telling us the towers had been hit. Classes changed and we went into English class, thinking there'd been some terrible accident, when Ms. Bergeron ran in again and said "turn on the radio". The minute it switched on it said "a plane has hit the Pentagon in Washington DC" and every head in the classroom turned to me. My Dad was working there and everyone knew it.

By the end of the day, Ms. Bergeron pulled me aside and said "look up the name Osama Bin Laden online. I'd bet money he was behind these attacks. Learn about him."

I went home. We hadn't heard from my father, nor some of Mum's friends, nor my brother's girlfriend's family, three of whom worked in the WTC. I missed school for a week whilst we awaited news.

When I returned to school younger girls cornered me in the bathroom wanting to know if my Dad had died.

It was harsh.

I remember a lot vividly, but that stuff struck me. Even now, remembering those moments is like a kick in the gut.