Sunday Sept. 9th, 2007, marks the 6th anniversary of my mother's death, and Monday Sept. 11th the anniversary of the unthinkable on the morning of her wake. I publish here a piece I wrote when all of that was still raw in Oct. 2001, because I was drawn to pull it out of old files today. Re-reading it made me realize the strength and depth of those infrequent and life-changing emotions.
September 11th 2001
A burning building filled the screen, Live Action; NBC News, remained unmoving in one corner, 10:32am in another.
“What happened I asked?” concern creeping in.
“It’s the Pentagon, a plane crashed into it,” a voice answered.
“What!” I blurted incredulously, eyes frozen on the screen.
“Yea, didn’t you hear about the twin tours?” another voice asked.
At that instant the screen switched to the shocking images of the previous 90 minutes: a twin tower on fire, a plane crashing into another, the first tumbling impossibly to the ground, then horrifyingly, the second following suit. I don’t know how much time elapsed the first time, but in two minutes of repeated footage I was supposed to assimilate the unimaginable. The bizarre series of events were unfolded for us by the news reporters, the others in the room, a local fireman who came in behind us.
My thoughts scrambled to grasp it, “these are special effects, scenes from Hollywood, someone is pulling a macabre joke like the Orson Wells’ radio hoax in 1939 when Martians were supposedly invading the earth, but who would or could? or why would they? This is too unreal to be unreal”.
The momentary isolation I had built around myself disintegrated and I looked at my brother and step father – unable to speak, we exchanged looks of fear and disbelief.
People were coming and going in the receiving room of the funeral parlor, voices were drowning out the news casters: speculation, confusion, who, how, why, what else? The fireman brought news about the Pentagon, the alert status they received, unconfirmed suspicions of more targets: the missile sight 15 miles up the road, AOL headquarters practically around the corner, Dulles Airport 15 minutes away. We were in one of the hubs, the spokes were spinning around us.
The funeral director showed us the chapel where the wake would be held that evening and took the shoes we had brought for him to put on my mother. The casket would be closed, nobody would see her, why bother with shoes? Because she couldn’t go barefoot in the dress she had said she wanted to be buried in. Another detail for the living, one of many I had questioned in the past 24 hours.
As we pushed ourselves to finish funeral tasks at hand the roads became deserted, cell phones were impossible to use, shopping centers closed and planes ceased to fly. The resulting silence was eerie. I felt like I was floating, the ground seemed to drop out from beneath my feet with each step, my stomach tightened, numbness took over. How could any of this be happening? My mother dead. Fear that any number of nearby sights could be attacked before day’s end. It feels like a dream, I wish it were a dream, it’s not a dream. The NPR news on the car radio confirmed that it was true.
Had everyone arrived from California that morning? Could Monica get out of Virginia Beach with the kids? Surely, as Chief Weapons Officer of the Navy’s East Coast Air Wing, her husband wouldn’t be coming now. Call Jennifer, tell her to avoid the beltway, come on the back roads. What about Todd coming by train from New York?
The California family had arrived safely on one of the last flights allowed to land at Dulles Airport. There they were, glued to the television when we walked in the house. Amazing how eight members of our family could be so quiet all in the same room. We all hugged, then pandemonium broke loose, everyone talking at once; “can you believe it, this is absurd, scary, impossible, I can’t fathom it, where were you when you heard? ”. The reason for the unexpected family reunion was temporarily forgotten, all attention was on the unthinkable.
The estimated number of deaths rose on the TV screen and suddenly it all became clear to me. I understood God’s rush to have my mother with Him. He needed her: her generous love, undying faith, great strength and unparalleled organization (as all of us cousins would later joke) to help so many souls in their passage from this life to the next. It comforted me to know that His next calling for her was of such magnitude. No doubt it pleased her too and she would rise to the occasion.
Then, thinking of the family members of those killed that day, I appreciated our good fortune. We had accompanied her until her peaceful end, we had said our good byes, our I love you’s and our thank you’s. We had shared our reminisces, our remember whens, our laughter and our tears with her. We had a body to dress, a casket to choose, a wake to plan, a burial to attend; We had details for the living.
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4 comments:
I read this several days ago, but it seems too deep to comment on, too personal.
But for the same reason it also feels odd, to not say anything about it.
me- 9/11
I can still very clearly remember that day, from the first "oh look, a plane has crashed into a building" (thinking it must be a small plane and an accident). Then watching as another plane hit. Followed by horror and the disbelief as the buildings collapsed (I know it happened, but still have trouble believing it). Terror, is right, that is how I felt, breath held all day, waiting, expecting, it to happen again and again (the horror of knowing it was intentional, an attack). Then later, walking in the park with my husband (now back from work) and son, (who I didn't send to afternoon kindergarten that day. It was so hard to send him the next day. I didn't want to, ever. But it seemed our duty as americans, to go on.) How quiet it was. How huddled all the people seemed. I will never look up at a plane flying overhead in the same way.
mourning-
It seems like the world should stop, when someone we love dies. For you it really did. The whole world (American anyway) changed, as your world did. I lost both my Nana and Pop by 2000, but I can't imagine if I had lost them at the same time as 9/11. My entire sense of security would have been lost. I needed time to process them separately. I don't know, I can not imagine having these two great losses intertwined. What a day, that must have been for you. I'm so sorry.
details for the living
I remember how carefully I put my make-up on for the funerals, how precisely I lined my eyes (with an ubsurd focus. And knowing full well I would cry it all off within the hour). Taking some kind of comfort in the normalcy of the routine, the ritual of the act (even as I exaggerated it). Almost believing that if I did it exactly right, some how, life would be alright. I would be alright. It is strange now, whenever I am really stressed, (or going to a funeral) this act will now take me back to that day, to that moment.
See that is why I said nothing before. I knew I would go on and on. And there needs to be none of me in it. Your words sit perfectly in themselves. So I should have just said this, "I hear you".
You could have said I hear you, but becasue you said so much more and so beautifully, means you needed to share it, to say you understood in a deeper way. I appreciate it, because I felt I needed to talk about it, but I felt worried that people around me would think Amy get over it, we've been there, done that. But I still go through it so heavily every Sep. 11th. I wonder if I could more easily move beyond it if every year the emotions and visions weren't reawkened by so many reminders on every news channel.
About your makeup vision..I so understand, I have something similiar with an empty pot of face cream I cannot throw away becasue my mother gave it to me that summer and it is the smell of my last month with her. I remember a conversation about proper funeral attire with her best freind everytime I wear the dress I wore to her funeral.
Who knows why we do these things, but I was comforted by your words..I am not the only one. Thank you for sharing and allowing me to share.
Oh I don't think anyone would ever say "get over it". I can't ever get over death.
Life will never be the same. Not after 9/11, and not after losing people who mean so much to us.
When my Nana and Pop died the world (my world) became different, I still laugh, love, enjoy life, but the world will never again feel to me, the way it did when they were still alive.
It is hard to know what you should, and shouldn't talk about in these situations. My 14 yr old cousin (15 now) died in December. When I see her sisters, our grandmother, and my mom, mostly on holidays, it feels strange not to talk about her, we are all thinking of her and miss her. But I hardly ever mention her to them. In not doing so, I worry they will think I don't think about her and don't care, but I am afraid if I bring her up, I will make people cry when they are trying to be lighthearted and happy. Plus, as dear as she was to me, she was more their's than mine, and so they should take the lead, in whether we talk about her or not.
I guess you are right, that I needed to share too.
I am glad you didn't mind.
I hadn't thought about that, even while reading your post, that each year with the 9/11 remembrances (on TV, media), how vividly that day, with all its personal sorrow, would replay for you. Yes, that would make it harder. Because on that day, you start with that memory, with the end, the funeral, and then have to work back to her life. I hardly ever think of their funerals, of that day, nor do I wish to. ( I couldn't imagine revisiting it in my mind every year). I hope that it gets easier, but yeah, I can see how you would have to re-work through it each year.
that is a beautiful and strong testimony for your mother, Amy. I am sure it is as you describe it: called home because she was sorely needed on that particular day.
your love for her endures and shines through on this post.
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