I wasn't going to post anything today. Anything I have to say would be trite in the shadow of The Anniversary. And I, who was far from NYC/DC/Pennsylvania, lost no one on September 11. What do I have to contribute aside from my own silent reflections? It seemed to me this morning as I listened to NPR, not much.
Then I was standing in line to get my tea. The older woman in front of me with a raspy smoker's voice said to the patient barista "I am sick of all this talk of September 11. Who cares! Get over it! Next they're going to make this a stupid holiday and we'll have to suffer through this every year."
My heart sank. Suffer through remembering? Suffer through honoring those who died and those who tried to save them? We are suffering? And who cares? I do. I should. We all should. I am overwhelmed with an immense sadness for the crass and uncaring response to such an event, even if it has been five years. Especially if it has been five years.
I still don't feel like I have something worthwhile to contribute, but I feel like I must. I have to balance that comment somehow. It reminds me of sitting in the commons while I was in college and a guy was making some racially charged comments about Natives, "but it was okay because he grew up in the bush and really knew them." When I objected, he told me "Christ, Mary, you don't have to be a fucking bleeding heart all the time." I was shocked. It was the first time I had ever been called a bleeding heart and the way he said it hurt my feelings. But I was indignant and told him that he didn't have to be a "racist fuckface all the time either." He rolled his eyes and continued his story. You see, I do have to be a "bleeding heart" if it means that I can sleep at night and that I stand up for what I believe in - and more importantly, who I believe in. I wasn't taking a noble stand in the commons and I am not taking one here. I am simply trying to even out the meanness and project a little compassion into my world.
The cliches run rampant on a day like today, and I have no wisdom to add. I am not eloquent or wise. But I can't sit still and let that woman's comments be the only ones I hear all day. I must put my heart, my words, and my compassion on display so that people know I care. Because I do. A lot.
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3 comments:
I know. My heart is sad and I have spent quite a bit of time watching the programs on History Channel today. I remember being home alone while Harold was sailing the high seas. Helicopters were flying overhead. Police and Coast Guard were everywhere. It was frightening. Where were you?
I guess I feel I am holding them and you in my heart, hoping that when I face tragedy, someone holds me in their heart.
I was got stranded up a slough of the Chena River with Greg, Brad, and Dan. I was surreal becuase Dan and I weren't supposed to stay the night, but it was too dark to head back to town on the boat. Brad and Dan shared a sleeping bag, as did Greg and I. I didn't sleep much and Dan and I got in the skiff at daybreak. I heard the news on the radio driving home to take a nap, but couldn't really compute what was happening becuase I was so tired. I went to class that morning, but it was cancelled and so walked down to my dorms and watched CNN for the rest of the afternoon. I am grateful I was on a college campus where there is such a strong sense of community.
Mommacita, I am always holding you in my heart - tragedy or not.
Hello dearie,
Keith Olbermann had some interesting comments about 9/11 on his Special Comment thingie. It's all over You Tube if you want to watch it.
I remember five years ago getting out of ballet (okay, the comic relief came early) and running into one of my friends who told me "a plane flew into the Sears Tower." Then I got out of my next class early and the first tower of the WTC had already fallen. Next thing I remember is standing on library mall on campus listening to the radio with hundreds and hundreds of other students when the second tower went down. My roommate and I staggered home and held hands on the couch watching Peter Jennings for the rest of the day.
I'll never forget looking into the faces of strangers on that day and seeing the same shell-shocked panic that I knew was on my own face, however cynical and coldhearted as I may become.
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