…A day of remembering…

Eight years ago.  I do remember it.  Where I was.  What I thought.  How the room smelled.  I do remember.  Seven years ago I was here.  In this town at this school.  Well not this school, the college instead of the seminary, but its close.  I remember the… oh its a horrible thing to say but the lack of remembering.  Not that I expected the world to stop revolving…  Though maybe it did.  Eight years ago I felt like the world should have stopped revolving.  Like the grass should start growing out of the sky and the ground should be sprouting clouds.  So on the anniversary, why should things be any different?  But it did feel strange.  

It was 365 days later.   The earth had not stopped revolving and had continued on its path around the sun.  It hadn’t been blown out of the sky and it didn’t reverse its direction.  Am I dramatic?  Okay, maybe a little, but its always how I feel on this day.  Unbelieving that nature itself hasn’t completing pulled some kind of 180.  Unbelieving that a nuclear holocaust has not yet occurred.  Unbelieving that for everything that has changed, it feels like nothing has actually changed.

Yes there are changes in laws, in attitudes, in approaches…  But I’m still as terrified as I was that day.  They are still out there, and they are still not identified.  America is still a big hulking moronic country that throws a missile-tantrum when it doesn’t get its way.  Okay, I’m straying from my original point and delving into politically murky waters which is not what I intended.  Back on course.

If I feel like there is a lack of remembrance, what would I like to have done instead?  What do I want the college, the seminary, the country, the world at large to do?  How do I want them to honor the memories of those who died?  While not belittling the other hundreds upon thousands of Americans who also died?  From the American Revolution to the Civil War to the World Wars to every skirmish in the South Pacific?  We should not dishonor them by over-honoring the victims of 9/11.  (I’m not starting the conversation of a soldier’s death vs. a non-combatant’s death.  Its still a human life that died.)

So what do I want?  Everyone walking around dressed in black with their head down?  No smiling or laughing or enjoying the beautiful fall weather?  That day eight years ago was a beautiful fall day too.  A long list of Facebook statuses of "We’ll never forget" and "Remember them forever" and on and on?  A quiet service in a meditation chapel, only 30 mins long so not to disturb the day?  A TV channel showing a picture of each victim of that day?  Banks and government services closed?  How do we remember those victims?  What would ease my mind and soul?

Well, it was unnatural.  It wasn’t supposed to happen.  There is nothing that can ease my mind and soul.  Remembering this day should be hard.  Just as those who remember Pearl Harbor have to deal with that hard day.  I don’t have remembrances of that day.  I wasn’t alive, so there are no memories associated with it.  Just like the shooting of MLKJ or JFK.  Or what about the sinking of the Lusitania?  I’m sure when the American people finally heard that news they were shocked into silence.  But I don’t remember those things.  Even so, none of them were natural.  This was not a hurricane or typhoon destroying lives.  This was man killing man.  This was not natural.  So it will never sit well with me.  (I understand that there comes a point in a war when lives must be lost, men must kill or be killed.  But if I could solve the world’s conflicts with bruised egos and broken noses alone, you bet I would.)

Still…  NY remembers differently than the rest of the country.  Downstate remembers differently that Upstate.  The City remembers differently than the Island.  Everyone remembers differently from everyone else.  We carry with us our unique perspectives and memories of places and smells and histories.  And I understand that.

But the only person… for whatever reason… who really understood and still understands my fear of that day… were the people in that band room and specifically Brian.  My mind first went to his father, who should have been flying.  My second thought was for him.  For young men who would surely die as a result of this.  The overreaction thought process included the draft and the knowledge that nearly half my male friends were already registered for the draft.  The other half would most likely be registered within that year.  I knew that the lives lost that day would not be last in this fight.

I was scared and frightening.  Of the future and the unknown.  And that has not changed for me.  I can go about my day, smiling and laughing and studying and pretending I’m fine.  But I’m really not.  I don’t read international papers much anymore because they just terrify me.  The international problems that seem to have no solution except war and destruction.  I guess this is the one day a year where I really can’t escape those fears, those feelings.  I can’t forget the images I saw, both on TV and in person that day or the days following.

And I have to remind myself that the best honor I can give to those who lost their lives eight years ago this morning, is to not show my fear.  To not give in to the terror and cower in the corner.  But to go about my day, smiling and laughing and studying.  Just like the monsters under the bed, I’m telling them in no uncertain terms that I am not afraid of them.  And they haven’t beaten us.

So I guess, everyone is doing exactly the best thing to honor those who lost their lives.  They are showing no fear.  But I wonder… underneath it all, are they as frightened as I?