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Growing Up Grieving, With Constant Reminders of 9/11
Like all of us, I have my own 9.11 story. Since I’ve related it on more than a few occasion in this space, I’ll spare y’all the regurgitation. This year, I just don’t have it in me to relive it all over again, anyway.
Part of the problem with the aftermath of 9.11 is that there was no precedent for dealing with the grief created by a disaster of such magnitude. How DO you cope with this sort of grief? Can it be done? I suppose all of us have to find our own answer to this question. I’m still working on it.
On a flight from New York’s JFK Airport to Athens, Greece in 1984, my plane flew over Manhattan and the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center. Even from the air, the towers looked HUGE. Never having been to Manhattan, I never had the chance to visit the towers in person, but from all I’ve seen, I would imagine that it was difficult to grasp the sheer size of both towers and the miracle of engineering that each tower represented. For someone to be able to hatch a plot to bring down both towers, and then to be able to execute that plot is almost beyond comprehension.
Then there was the attack on the Pentagon and the fourth plane that went down near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Three years later, and it still difficult for me to wrap my head around the reality of it all. Four planes, 19 terrorists, 3000 dead. I’ve given up on the idea of ever really coming to any sort of understanding of it all. I’m not sure I will ever be able to fully understand the depth of the rage and hatred that would drive 19 men to kill 3000 Americans in the name of their God.
My remembrance this year will be quiet, subdued and personal. I’ve already had my memorial. When I was in Minneapolis-St.Paul last month, I stopped by my alma mater, Macalester College, in St. Paul. I visited the tree that I helped plant two years ago in the memory of a friend and classmate, Tim Haviland, who died in 1 World Trade Center on 9.11.01.
I stood in front of Tim’s tree on a beautiful Minnesota Saturday morning, and I discovered that I had long since cried all of the tears I had. I took that as a good sign; perhaps I was finally beginning to move on. It was difficult not to feel something resembling guilt about not feeling more, but emotionally, I’m an empty vessel when it comes to this grieving process. Been there, done that, and yes, now I know that I have a live to get on with living.
I still miss Tim and I miss the innocence that my memory has endowed those halcyon days prior to 9.11.01 with. They were probably nothing like I remember them to be, but it certainly seems as if things were a whole lot simpler then.
Of course, if I lived in New York, I imagine my feelings would probably be much different. For those of you who do live in New York and whose memories of 9.11 hit much closer to home, my heart goes out to you. May you, and all of us, be able to use this day to help us get on with the business of living. What alternative is there?
