The New Normal
It might seem like I've forgotten. It might seem like I haven't paid enough attention to what happened almost two weeks ago. It might seem like I didn't mourn enough. It might seem that way, but it's not true. I just can't focus on it. I can't look directly at it, or it hurts my head. I have to keep my eyes up and march forward, or I will become a different kind of victim, swallowed up in grief.
I am a sensitive person. Some people call it touchy, others overly emotional. Some people think I have a heart as big as my chest is wide. I cry a lot. I let things get to me. I'm one of those people that could easily immerse myself in the horror of what happened, but I don't. I know that it's not going to do myself or anyone else a damn bit of good.
Ultimately, that's why I am so sensitive, because I want to help people. I feel their pain, but I'm not going to dwell on it anymore. I don't expect anyone else to plod forth the way I've chosen to do. This is my way to start healing. I'd like to think that maybe I'm helping others too by getting away from it. It's like the kids getting hurt. I run to their aid and comfort them, bandage them up, and then draw their attention elsewhere to forget the bleeding wound. For those of us like me, that feel the secondary pain of just being a member of this country, this world, this ideal that was attacked, we need to be the ones to gather ourselves up and be strong for those that were hit more directly.
This doesn't mean I don't still hurt. My eyes still well up with tears at all the images of pain and caring I see. I cried yesterday when I saw the neighbors flag at full staff. I cried today when I read Rob's entry about his visit to New York. I still have my moments where I break down and become overwhelmed with how this could really happen. The regularity of those has lessened though, and I've gone back to keeping the TV off all day long, at least until the kids get home.
Whether I wanted it to or not, my life continued to move. School didn't stop for even a day. While the stock market was at a standstill, the kids still had all their activities. We didn't stop wearing clothes or eating food. The animals still needed fed. The house still got dirty (dagnabbit!). The president told us to get on with life, and I found I had to anyway, no matter what he said. Life was getting on with me.
As trivial as doing laundry seems, it helps; so does making dinner, taking the dog out, being Mom's taxi, and cleaning my basement. In fact, I'm more on top of things than I have been in a while, because it eased the worry to focus on something else. I still waste a lot of time and avoid doing things, and there is comfort in my faults as well. I might not be able to fix what's wrong in the world, but I can keep working on myself. I still have something to do.
I am a little surprised at myself. As usual, I doubted my ability to recover. For a while, I found myself asking the same questions lots of people ask of themselves and others, "How can you go on after what happened when so many people are suffering?" Some might think talking about my toaster oven one week after the tragedy was ridiculous. It is ridiculous, and it would be whether that event happened or not. I needed a little absurdity, especially when all I wanted to do was cry for those that are still carrying pictures of the people they love who never came home. I'm not looking to mock that sorrow. I am looking to get out of the mire, and since I'm much further from it than they are, I should be one of the first.
I can't say I know how those people feel. I've never been through something so terrible. I don't know how it is to live without someone that you thought would be there. I never lived in a city that was attacked and left to pick up the pieces for months afterward.
I do know the feeling that no one should go on though, that everyone should mourn with me. The day I found out the baby I carried inside me had died, I felt like everyone should know. When someone ran into me with a cart in the grocery store, I burst into tears, thinking, "How could you?" I wanted everyone to feel my pain, and I was frustrated when not everyone did. I know now it wasn't reasonable, but grief isn't reasonable.
Everyone has heard grief is a process. We all move through it differently, and the closer we are to the cause, the slower that movement will be. This is the pace that's right for me. I still touch the sadness sometimes, but I'm outside of it. Now I think it's my job to cradle the rest of it in my arms and say, "It's going to be ok." It is going to be ok. It might not be the same ok it was September 10th, but it will be ok.
The Flag of Earth was first flown in 1970 by James W. Cadle, a farmer in Illinois who'd been inspired by the recent moon landing to remind us that we're all here on this big blue ball together. Today, in 2001, it seems a good time to hang the flag of Earth next to our American flags - and to remember that, first and foremost, we're humans.
--InPgh back cover, 9.19.01
Today I got rid of:
Bag of old clothes
Yesterday:
More toy parts
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One Year Ago Today:
