Life goes on...
I wrote this on September 12, 2001...and I think that the message is still as true today as it was that day.
***
Last night, the sunset was glorious. The water was tinted gold and pink as the sky was ablaze, and the mountains were silhouetted in their purple majesty. I watched as the colors faded to soft lavenders and cobalt blues on the water, and then the silver of the moon made a sparkling path across the quiet waves. Salmon jumped and splashed in the stillness of the night.
When P. arrived home last night, he was in a somber mood. He was early; he didn't have to watch his boys, since their mother's work closed due to the events of the day and she was home with them. He works for the government, and they listened to radio reports all day. They had no television, so were not subject to watching, again and again, the replay of the horror of that jet flying into the tower, or the disintegration of the buildings, or the destruction of the Pentagon, or the charred black hole in Pennsylvania.
There was little discussion among his coworkers, it seemed. They simply listened as the magnitude of the tragedy was described so inadequately by reporters. Upon leaving, he said, the backup from those entering through the gate extended back a mile or more, a sign of the tightened security. He and I talked about it over dinner, and through it all I saw his profound sadness and deep anger at the atrocity which had been visited upon his country and fellow Americans. This is a man who has served his country, both as a member of the Armed Forces and as a civilian, for years. His sense of helplessness and disbelief mirrored what I heard and saw in news reports all day.
We went to bed very early, because he knew he would have to spend time waiting to get through the gate this morning. He told me not to worry about coming to bed early, but I joined him. I didn't want him to fall asleep alone. I rose at 4:15 to wake him and fix him breakfast before he went off, once more, to "save our country."
And I remembered that last night, the sunset was glorious.
I turned on the television, hearing what I knew I would hear -- updated reports on the rescue efforts, snips of the President's speech to the country, interviews with government officials, and speculation about the perpetrators. I reminded Master that the garbage needed to go down to the curb as he left, kissing him goodbye and hugging him tight. I turned off the TV as I tidied the kitchen, and sat down with a cup of coffee on my front porch.
The morning was quiet, as dawn broke. Birds twittered in the trees, and I could hear the quiet ripples of water in the birdbath. The scent of the new day, of the grass mown by the neighbor yesterday and the flowers in my tubs mingled with the smell of my coffee. The sky was bathed in pale pink and blue as the sun rose slowly, becoming brighter and more intense as it moved higher, until the pinks faded and the blue became deeper. The dew on the grass and trees sparkled in the early morning light.
And I remembered that last night, the sunset was glorious.
I mourned all those who did not see last night's sunset nor this morning's sunrise, who set out yesterday morning after the sunrise with every expectation that they would see it set.
Life has changed, and indeed, after a time we may again become complacent and forget that we need to tell others their importance to us, every day. We may forget the difference each of us makes, individually. For now, however, we need not feel helpless.
Each of us can be part of responding to this act of hatred in a way that demonstrates the character of the United States...by refusing to allow ourselves to be intimidated by it; by giving (as so many of us have already) willingly to help in the rescue efforts, whether by donating blood, money, or whatever we can; by refusing to treat with anger and hate those with ethnic origins different than our own for no other reason than their ethnicity; by encouraging our leaders to respond to this responsibly and honorably, even as they do so as swiftly as possible; and by refusing to allow our lives to become ruled by fear.
The sunset last night was glorious. The sunrise this morning was, too. I will continue to appreciate each and every sunset and sunrise given me. I will grieve the loss of those who were taken from us so violently, and I will support the efforts to bring to justice those responsible for the violence. And I will continue to remind those who matter to me of their importance and my love.
That includes all of you.
Love,
jacqui
***
Last night, the sunset was glorious. The water was tinted gold and pink as the sky was ablaze, and the mountains were silhouetted in their purple majesty. I watched as the colors faded to soft lavenders and cobalt blues on the water, and then the silver of the moon made a sparkling path across the quiet waves. Salmon jumped and splashed in the stillness of the night.
When P. arrived home last night, he was in a somber mood. He was early; he didn't have to watch his boys, since their mother's work closed due to the events of the day and she was home with them. He works for the government, and they listened to radio reports all day. They had no television, so were not subject to watching, again and again, the replay of the horror of that jet flying into the tower, or the disintegration of the buildings, or the destruction of the Pentagon, or the charred black hole in Pennsylvania.
There was little discussion among his coworkers, it seemed. They simply listened as the magnitude of the tragedy was described so inadequately by reporters. Upon leaving, he said, the backup from those entering through the gate extended back a mile or more, a sign of the tightened security. He and I talked about it over dinner, and through it all I saw his profound sadness and deep anger at the atrocity which had been visited upon his country and fellow Americans. This is a man who has served his country, both as a member of the Armed Forces and as a civilian, for years. His sense of helplessness and disbelief mirrored what I heard and saw in news reports all day.
We went to bed very early, because he knew he would have to spend time waiting to get through the gate this morning. He told me not to worry about coming to bed early, but I joined him. I didn't want him to fall asleep alone. I rose at 4:15 to wake him and fix him breakfast before he went off, once more, to "save our country."
And I remembered that last night, the sunset was glorious.
I turned on the television, hearing what I knew I would hear -- updated reports on the rescue efforts, snips of the President's speech to the country, interviews with government officials, and speculation about the perpetrators. I reminded Master that the garbage needed to go down to the curb as he left, kissing him goodbye and hugging him tight. I turned off the TV as I tidied the kitchen, and sat down with a cup of coffee on my front porch.
The morning was quiet, as dawn broke. Birds twittered in the trees, and I could hear the quiet ripples of water in the birdbath. The scent of the new day, of the grass mown by the neighbor yesterday and the flowers in my tubs mingled with the smell of my coffee. The sky was bathed in pale pink and blue as the sun rose slowly, becoming brighter and more intense as it moved higher, until the pinks faded and the blue became deeper. The dew on the grass and trees sparkled in the early morning light.
And I remembered that last night, the sunset was glorious.
I mourned all those who did not see last night's sunset nor this morning's sunrise, who set out yesterday morning after the sunrise with every expectation that they would see it set.
Life has changed, and indeed, after a time we may again become complacent and forget that we need to tell others their importance to us, every day. We may forget the difference each of us makes, individually. For now, however, we need not feel helpless.
Each of us can be part of responding to this act of hatred in a way that demonstrates the character of the United States...by refusing to allow ourselves to be intimidated by it; by giving (as so many of us have already) willingly to help in the rescue efforts, whether by donating blood, money, or whatever we can; by refusing to treat with anger and hate those with ethnic origins different than our own for no other reason than their ethnicity; by encouraging our leaders to respond to this responsibly and honorably, even as they do so as swiftly as possible; and by refusing to allow our lives to become ruled by fear.
The sunset last night was glorious. The sunrise this morning was, too. I will continue to appreciate each and every sunset and sunrise given me. I will grieve the loss of those who were taken from us so violently, and I will support the efforts to bring to justice those responsible for the violence. And I will continue to remind those who matter to me of their importance and my love.
That includes all of you.
Love,
jacqui