So, it’s 9/11… and each year on this anniversary, I never know what to write. I feel like anything I could say would just be insipid.
Here’s what some fellow bloggers are saying:
- Grabbingsand: What to do with when
- Fetch Me My Axe: So. Here we are.
- Feministe: Remembering September 11th, 2001
On Sept. 11, 2001, I was in awe. I couldn’t believe this was really happening. I had skipped my morning class, and Chris had woken me up with, “We’re being attacked by terrorists!” I bolted upright in bed, heart pounding.
CNN was already on downstairs. We saw the second plane hit. We watched as the buildings burned and collapsed. When the towers fell, no one bothered to bleep out the swear words everyone was saying (live feed, and all), and you know, nobody cared. I don’t know why I remember that little tidbit.
I don’t know why I dragged myself to my 12:35 class… I should’ve known classes would be cancelled. I guess I wasn’t thinking.
I worried about my friends in New York. I sent emails, asking if they were okay. When I received the first email response, I stupidly wrote something flippant by way of reply… I think it was, “My mom says she doesn’t want me visiting you anymore. ;)” Yes, with the winky-smiley and everything. Soon after I sent it, I felt ashamed of that. I wrote another email, apologizing. It’s weird… I know I responded in that manner as a way of trying to cope with all the overwhelming feelings. But what’s weird is I had never been one to use humor to try to cope with tragedy… but then, nothing like that had ever happened before.
Soon an impromptu memorial had sprung up at the Arch. A few days later (I think? maybe it was the same night? I don’t remember), Chris and I went downtown. There was a guy standing in the middle of Broad St. waving a huge American flag. I took a photo of him. At the Arch memorial, there were tons of candles, flowers, random paraphernalia… and there was a notebook, where people were writing their thoughts. I picked it up and wrote something… I don’t remember much of what I wrote, but I know it started out with, “Dear New York City.” And there was something about survivor’s guilt (though I didn’t call it that, because I hadn’t yet identified it as such) in there. Chris took a photo of me writing in the journal. I didn’t know whether I should smile or not. I ended up smiling, and then later I felt like that was totally inappropriate.
Maybe tonight or tomorrow night I’ll try to find those photos. (This was before I had a digital camera, of course.)
Update: Also, here’s what I wrote on Sept. 11, 2002. I didn’t write anything in 2003, 2004, or 2005.
READ ME: Disclaimer
5 Responses to "The ‘5 years later’ post"
Someone at work directed me to the following website. The creators brother, my co-workers college friend,lost his life in 9-11. I think its a marvelous idea to refocus our greif and anger:
http://www.mygooddeed.org/
I remember that memorial. I added something to it - i don’t remember what now, but I remember the administration letting us keep it and they ended up saving the entire thing. It was on display at the library for awhile, but they apparently still have it somewhere. I think that is so amazing for the school to do that, and important historically.
I remember Bly running into the bathroom while I was in the shower and telling me that someone had bombed the Pentagon — that’s what the news was saying. I went to school that day, too. It was surreal. I can’t believe it’s been 5 years. I also can’t believe how easily everyone rolled over and gave up their personal privacy afterwards.
I typed up a reply yesterday and then deleted it because it felt too angry. Which I suppose, in all fairness, counts as a stage of grief. And I think it all gets wrapped up in that at this point.
I grieve for the people lost. I grieve for the families that can no longer be whole. I grieve for an incarnation of New York that I never got to know. I grieve for the false sense of security we used to have. I grieve for the international goodwill that I watched my government throw away and stamp into oblivion. I grieve for the Bill of Rights, which was once one of the few things I was truly proud of about my country. I just grieve.
Sometimes I’m angry. Sometimes I’m devastated. Sometimes I just pause.
But somewhere, in all of the carnage and senseless destruction - both from that day and what we have since perpetuated - I believe there is purpose. Sometimes I can’t find it, but I know it’s there. It has to be.
:grin:
… to do …