Eight

I'm glad it's raining today. I'm cold and my feet are wet and it's going to be a long, sleepy day, but that's so much better than having that feeling of fear and nausea clawing at my stomach all day in the background the way it has every year this day is sunny and crisp.

Friends in California were talking about the fires last week, and how it just smells like smoke everywhere, and I immediately flashed back to the smell of the flaming towers, burning flesh and metal. I said that, and another friend--who lived in New York eight years ago but doesn't now--said he hadn't thought about it in years, but as soon as I mentioned it the smell came back to his nose and punched him in the gut.

There are some things that never go away, I guess. The anger is one of them. I'm still angry whenever I take my damn shoes off at airport security. This is all we've got? Seriously? You're telling me that the best security the United States of America can throw at this is underpaid, undertrained hourly employees and making me run my shoes through the x-ray machine. OK, then.

And the sadness. That it happened, and that we don't seem to have learned a whole lot that we're applying to internal politics or foreign relations.

My church moved to a new space in 7 World Trade, right next to the hole. So I walk past the hole every Sunday, and I observe that all it is anymore is a hole. With no plans that we know about to build anything there. Too much in-fighting and politics. So it's just a big hole, with an ugly blue fence around it.

Back when it was still raw and exposed and fresh, we thought this was a turning point. That we were learning a lesson that would never leave us, about loss and unity and progress and healing and strength. (I think of the optimism I had on September 11 last year...)

But all it is is a hole.

We should be doing better. In so many ways.

Where do we start?

(In memory of Colleen Supinski, coworker and friend, who died September 11, 2001.)

Comments

[sudru]

Write, Moxie, write. You're say it good.

[sudru]

And for example, I should not write, not so good.

[hedra]

I'm sorry for the loss of your friend. I was talking with Mr B this morning about a friend of mine, who is a teacher and school director in NYC and who that day stayed and stayed and stayed after school, and hoped for either parent to show up for two of the kids in her care. Kindergarteners. One, a grandmother finally picked up, she had lost one parent that day, the other couldn't get to the school. The other child went home with her teacher that night. The waiting and waiting and not knowing was agonizing. I have blocked out any certainty on whether that child lost both parents, or just one, but I think it was both. Just the idea of my child waiting for me, waiting and waiting, and then having to go home with their teacher, still not knowing where I was or if I was okay ... (My friend's husband also worked in one of the Towers, but had delayed his start that day.)

It's now a truism, but all we can do is be the change we want to see.

This is part of why I love my job. I have the chance to change minds, let people see how a different way of life is not a wrong way of life, and how much we are the same underneath the assumptions and the expectations and the culture and the values and the experiences. Listen, listen, listen, restate and reframe, reflect, be patient, and listen some more. Nonviolence in communication, refusing to get angry, trying again.

And at the same time, my nephew is airborne infantry, and is in Afghanistan right now. What do we do with this? How do I integrate that? Partly, I trust that his loving nature will show (and not be broken). He also hopes that some hope, some gift, some reaching out of his will show that we are all the same inside, even if it only affects one person that is better than none. But there is so much pain and anger and fear to face there, it is overwhelming. Still, even he feels like the best action is living the change he wants to see. He's asked for us to send things that he can give out to the locals, especially kids - from hard candies to fleece scarves (once cold weather sets in, anyway). Any gesture, any at all, any chance to make a human contact in at least a neutral manner is cherished.

And also, this is why we support charities that work for international change. A girl's school in Afghanistan got a decent sized gift last year from my entire extended family (by way of my mom's charitable fund). What might otherwise be my inheritance is being sent out every year, to push the balance toward hope.

It is in that kind of thing that I make 'our' difference, I think. Me making a difference, not us. "We" don't learn, don't change, don't grow. "We" and "they" still hate and fear. But 'me' is where the change comes.

It is a slow process, and 'we' are a people who fear uncertainty. We want a solid truth and a way that is certain, known, reliable. We're not going to get that. All we can do is carry on letting each of our hearts escape our skin in some way, not pulling in out of despair but stubbornly taking action over and over again, letting something go out from us into the world that shows our best hopes.

I still go back to the speech that Marianne Pearl gave at our state women's conference last year. Hope is our best weapon, hope and each of our small actions for change. Women refusing to let their lives be crushed, their neighborhoods fail, or their daughters be harmed. It's not *just* up to the women, but the women feed the change in amazing ways anyway. She was also very clear that NO politician, NO system, NO government will EVER SOLVE THIS. It is not at that level that the work needs to be done. Expecting it to come from there is an abdication of our power, and of our opportunity to make change happen. The government can only hire those hourly workers and set up the red tape and react to the latest news and send troops or pull them back. None of those create change, really. They're big loud obvious and mainly useless when it comes to real changes at the level you and I want to see. Don't look there, it is too far to see anything real. Look closer to home.

Marianne said the only reason to be a terrorist is if you have no hope. Nobody else could really go there. They act, just like children, to make others feel what they feel and cannot process. They want others to feel hopeless, too. So Ms. Pearl has fought back (and she considers it a FIGHT - she is in no way being gentle or sweet or forgiving about this, she is PISSED and always will be) ... and she fights by documenting hope and getting those stories into the hands of women around the world. She doesn't expect others to be journalists, but she did clearly say that we each have our reach and our skills and our opportunities. It is up to us to take them, where we live.

Moxie, your work right here is creating the change. The more we approach our most challenging and overwhelming personal task (parenthood) with compassion and a willingness to accept ourselves and others, the more we teach that to our children, too. Read through the comments, and see how many times someone says 'you gave me hope', either by something you said, or an opportunity to share that you created for some commenter or other. We may not see it 'out there', stamped on the face of our politics, but it embeds in the lives of others, and spreads.

I think Marianne's speech really turned my perspective on its head entirely. I do not at all expect any government or politician to create the change I want to see. They may try, and I'll back their efforts. But I place my own energy in taking my own action for hope, whether that is supporting my local school or taking something to the food bank or sending money to a charity elsewhere in the world, or even getting a box and stuffing it with minor tokens to be passed from me to my nephew to the hand of a child half way around the world.

"They" and "we" will not change this, but you and I can make a dent. And you already do that.

[Lisa F.]

the weather is beautiful here today, just as it was 8 years ago, and I am sad, remembering. I am alone with my thoughts as I was 8 years ago, at a scary big transitional time. 9/11 set me into a depression of anxiety & fear. I am currently climbing out of anxiety & fear.

I am hopeful about many things, and I have to echo hedra, "be the change that you want to see" has been running through my brain frequently. as my son mirrors my inability to handle my anger, my anxiety, my frustration & boredom....

I also have been trying to practice compassion, keeping the thought that we're all doing the best we can, and if I can hold that, and not react with the assumption that another's actions are about me, or come from arrogance/anger/what-have-you, if I give people the benefit of the doubt, if I give MYSELF the benefit of the doubt, and forgive everyone, including myself, we'll all be better off.

thanks for your site, Moxie, and thank you to everyone for their comments, as always.

[MrsHaley]

NPR broadcast a Story Corps piece that brought me to my knees this morning. It was about a gentleman who lost both his sons -- one a firefighter, the other a detective. BOTH his sons. He says he can sleep at night because each of them called him that morning on their way downtown and their last words to him, and his to them, were, "I love you." Oh, God, this world you gave us ... it is bitter and it is sweet.

Colleen wasn't at our class reunion last year. We missed her then, and still do.

[caramama]

It really is amazing how the rainy weather helps to dispell the images of that day from my mind just a bit. And I'm actually greatful that the baby woke me up EVERY HOUR last night because my exhaustion and grumpiness is taking the edge off my sadness for the day. Well, maybe not "greatful."

@hedra - Thank you. What you said helped a lot. Even though your story about the kids waiting made me cry (at work).

@Moxie - Thank you for being you and doing all that you do. You have helped me so much. And I think this site helps so many people understand each other and commiserate with each other. And it provides us a positive place to support each other in raising the next generation.

As for me, I believe where we start is with the children. They are the future of this world. I feel it is so important to raise my children in a diverse environment, talk about issues with understanding and compassion for others, and model that behavoir so they can see that reaching out to help others and have empathy/sympathy makes the world a better place. One person at a time.

(I'm hoping that was coherent, as I really didn't get much sleep and am not sure I'm saying what I mean to.)

[mom2boys]

Just to take a moment when I could say something mean or in anger, to pause and remember that right now is all I have. It doesn't always work but I'm trying and it's helping and I have to believe there is a ripple effect, one kindness begets another and so on.

[Melissa]

Moxie, I went to college (Susquehanna University) with Colleen Supinski. She was a beautiful person and I think of her every year on this date. What a small world.

[Heather]

That was a beautiful post. I was in Annandale, Va when the plane hit the pentagon. My step father and I thought a bomb had exploded, we felt the plane hit 12 miles away. I remember driving past the pentagon for over a year and seeing the black stain on the building left from the impact. I hope we can all heal a little more as time goes by, and that this never ever happens again. Life is too precious.

[AmyinTexas]

More than any other event in my life, I can remember that morning viscerally... and I live at the opposite end of the country.

I usually pass the anniversary thinking about my drive to the doctor that morning. The radio was simulcasting ABC and Peter Jennings was talking us through what he could see. I could go on in detail... I can't believe that after 8 years and so far from the tragedy, the details stick with me the way they do.

#1 was 18 months old that day. I told him about that morning as they talked about it on the news (still ABC!) tonight. I'm not sure I've ever discussed what happened with him. And then, out of no where, I started to cry.

Hedra, your story brings the tears again.

[pnuts mama]

i think the lesson for me this year again is hope- hope that the way we all cared for each other and took care of each other those days and weeks and months after that day- do you remember? i mean nyc is not the warmest place, socially, folks avoid eye contact and generally don't look out for each others interest- but the anguish we experienced together that day and the all the many days that followed, that was palpable, and permeated our lives and really changed the way we treated each other. it has toned down, of course, eight years later. but i really still feel it, sometimes, the way it changed us. those friends and strangers we lost, how their void won't ever be filled, how we feel that void, how it has softened some of the edges here.

and that is my hope, that in this city and nation and world we can seriously see through all of the barriers we create for each other and just see each other as family to be cared for - the way we did on 9/11, and 9/12, and 9/13...

we just keep trying.

it's not about the hole. it was never about the hole.

it is about the moms and dads and sons and daughters and husbands and wives and uncles and aunts and friends who still live through us. we make it not about the hole when we honor their memory and act on their behalf, living and working to change a world to eradicate any chance of it happening again. we do that through service and selfless acts of caring for each other, by repairing ourselves and our relationships and our world. we do it because we must. our lives are meaningless otherwise.

the human condition requires that progress get held up at times, and we take steps back to go forward again, sometimes in new directions. maybe we're not getting it right this eighth year. my hope then, is that nine will be better. for all of us. i still believe that it can be better, and it will.

[MemeGRL]

I'm sorry for the loss of your friend.

The hole doesn't bother me. I don't live in NY so I don't see it often. But I live close enough that I had several trips there for school and later for fun, to visit friends, and accrue plenty of WTC tourist memories.

I don't mind the hole because it is a very tangible absence and to me it echoes 3000 other absences that are still deeply felt. I understand the frustration of those who would like to see a phoenix rise, and eventually I would too. But the absence is tremendously eloquent to me.

Again, it's not my neighborhood, so I don't presume that this is what's best for lower Manhattan. I still miss the towers, and imagine I'd be restless for progress if I lived closer. And maybe it's more than I mean to reveal about myself to say that I don't mind the reminder of absence. My mother died (totally unexpectedly) later than month, and her loss is a hole that I can't ever fill. So while I certainly don't advocate leaving the hole there forever (and really, the economics of the won't let it happen) I don't see it as an insult to the memory of the lost loved ones, but a tangible expression of continued grief.

One of the loveliest things I've read recently was on kids, mostly in the NY area, whose birthdays are September 11. More than one have stopped celebrating, or have chosen to mark the day by taking a cake to the local fire station. And one of the later comments was by a 9/11 widow, who very eloquently and persuasively urged the children to celebrate on 9/11 as the best kind of tribute to the ones who were lost and to honor those lives by carrying on. That's where I'm trying to start. Flying my flag today. Taking cookies to our police/fire station. Reading the "People" book to my kids, to help teach them that we are more similar than different. Showing them that the best reactions to grief or injustice or unkindness are not to spread it around but to try to heal. I wish I were more successful in that. But that's where I start.

Thanks to all your commenters, and you. Each of you gave me food for thought on this somber day. And again, I'm sorry for your loss.

[Sarah]

As an American who was (and still is) living in Canada at the time, I have a more distant perspective. There was the fear for friends and family and the whole shock and disbelief, but I was so much farther from what was happening.

All that said, I wanted to recommend the book Three Cups of Tea. I just finished listening to it on cd, and while I have very little faith in government, this boosted my faith in my fellow humans who are working to build schools and care for each other all over the world.

[thebigmeow]

It was late at night when it all happened for me (I live in Perth, Australia).

I remember being at home with my Mum and brother and sister. I was in year 12. My brother called us into the computer room to show us a video. We then turned on the TV and the same video was there. I remember being speechless. I remember going to school the next day and hiding in the music room with some other students so we could listen to the radio.

I was watching a movie the other day and it showed the skyline of NYC in the 90s and the towers were there and it shocked me to see them - I'd forgotten how tall they were. But I also remember seeing the same movie before 01 and not noticing - they were just buildings back then.

[Kristin]

Thank you for sharing, Moxie, and everyone here. I found this year harder than I expected. Not that I expected to be happy, or somehow over it, but I didn't expect to burst into tears on my way to work, cry the whole commute, and cry while sitting in my room while prepping for class, and just feel generally overwhelmed when I wasn't actually busy teaching.

And here's my bit of anger about how things get talked about -- and I recognize that this is pretty trivial in the grand scheme of what people suffer, what people remember -- but it burns me up to here the term "Ground Zero." It seems too ... flip. Hip. It was a real place, with real offices and real people, and it pisses me off to hear it... diminished? I wasn't close to anyone who was lost, or any who were nearly lost but survived -- but the connections were far too close. Father of my little sister's friend, escaped. Ex-boyfriend of my other sister, escaped, barely. Friend from college, late to work, never got to tower. Father of little sister's friend, a NYC fireman, off that day, tried to go in to help and couldn't get close enough, lost most of his unit. Dear college roommate watched second tower fall from her office in NJ, sat at work in terror until hearing that her sister was safe. Mother of friend's boyfriend, lost.

Summed up in a little sound byte of military speak? And I don't even mean to pick on the media for this: I don't envy anybody the job they had to do that day, or the next day, or any day since where this is concerned. It's just something that crept quickly into the collective language while were busy coping. Maybe it was a defense mechanism, and I can sympathize with that. But it has bothered me for 8 years. I wish I could explain better, but there it is.

[Jaime]

Moxie, thanks for mentioning Colleen. I went to high school with her, ran track and cross country with her. One of the sweetest girls. I think about her, too, every year on 9/11.
-Jaime (BMC '97)

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