Today is better than yesterday. On the 11th-One has to find other ways to be busy-ways that do not include television-radio or any other media. As a New Yorker, I often wonder if the horror of that day will ever go away. Recently, I saw a piece on t.v. in which some family members of those lost that day said they didn't want to be disrespectful of their lost loved ones but the yearly, visual horror-filled reminder just never lets them be at peace. There is, for them, no closure. Some of the women say, that they just get their children back to sleeping normally and functioning in school when it's time to re-visit the pain again. I get it. Last night I had the t.v. on while I cooked dinner and I began, after 5 minutes, to find it unbearable. I'm tired of crying and so I get what the members of these families were saying. I think, at some point, it becomes unhealthy to spend a year trying to forget only to find oneself at that awful place again, and again...forever.
People in Manhattan are, in great numbers, very sick. They inhaled the horror and now they find they cannot breath properly. I live out here in the island and I smelled it-it was awful, caustic, frightening smell. The horrible smell of that day will take many more victims with it.
I hope I don't offend anyone because it's easy for me to talk about a nightmare that did not directly affect me but I think of all those children who lost parents and just about get their lives back to something that resembles normal-only to be faced with a day of endless, utter sadness. They need to find a way out of this darkness.
For me, that day was the beginning of a year long journey into a deep & frightening depression. In retrospect, I think it was the loss of control over what happens to your life. That's an unusual thing for Americans to be faced with. We are so fortunate to be able to go about our days with the idea that we can, pretty much, do as we please. We can orchestrate our lives and be comfortable in knowing that each day generally unfolds in a pattern that we have made for ourselves.
On Sept. 11th, 2001-I became so depressed and afraid that I couldn't do anything but sleep, eat too much, and drag myself through the endless abyss that I fell into. I never really told anyone in my family for months. I would get up-do the morning thing, make the lunches, kiss the boys goodbye, smile like a Stepford wife and then go and sit on the couch and stare and cry and be silent with these awful dark thoughts. I became house-bound. Only out for things I couldn't avoid. Agoraphobia big time! Eventually, I learned a bit about the computer(didn't have to go out for that) and I discovered that there were people who liked quilting and art and wrote about it. Enter..You! In a way, among the people that made me feel alive and vital again here, I found a wonderful, artistic, amusing, giving, group of women. I guess the moral of the story is-life unfolds in strange and wonderful ways before our eyes, even when we are nearly blind with pain and fear.
What a great gift.
I hope your Sept. 12th is a beautiful day-we all deserve it.
Off to do some errands...