September 11, 2002 11:10 am
The Anniversary
It is September 11 and, as I look down at the computer clock, it is 11:11 a.m. No one could write an entry today without reflecting on this past year. One year ago this morning I was still in bed, late for us, playing with the cat, and finally getting started on the day. I was about to take a shower when I heard Mark play back the 12 calls on the answering machine--all from my sister shouting "Get up! Wake up!" and detailing the tragedies that were happening across America. What a frightening morning it was, not knowing what would happen next. Would there be more attacks? We'd never anticipated these kinds of attacks, how could we anticipate what might come next?
I was only working part-time last September. I had already recorded a show for that night at midnight, but knew it would be un-airable in light of what had happened. I started to the station that evening and then happened to turn on the radio. All we were airing was ABC news. I called and found out that my show was to be pre-empted. A relief. How do you even TALK after events like that?
A year later I am avoiding most of the coverage. I am sick of e-mails telling me what to do today: Wear red, white, and blue, drive with your lights on, have a moment of silence, go to church, etc. etc. I don't quite know what I will do today beyond go to work and do my "regular" thing. I never participated in any of the group shows of grief last year, and maybe I should have. I have never been very good at expressing deep emotions. Sure, show a sappy McDonald's commercial and I'll have tears coming down my face, but true emotion? I bury it deep.
Last night I had been flipping channels and watching mindless TV. Mark got the remote and began watching a show about the WTC and firefighters. At that point I chose to leave the house and go to Johnson City to see my friend Perfect C and the singer Adam Carroll at the Friendly Bar. Nice little road trip. She's leaving for California again Sunday so I needed to get a "fill-up" of talking with her.
Tonight I think I will again be avoiding the constant coverage. I did turn on the TV this morning to make sure there had not been more attacks or other disasters amidst all the warnings. We appear to be safe.
I'd rather focus on the beauty around me on this sunny morning. My Turk's caps are blooming profusely and you can rarely look at them without seeing a happy hummingbird flitting and darting around the blooms. My rock rose has appreciated the rain and cooler temps and is blooming again. The prettiest, though, is my great-grandma flower, a schoolhouse lily, in full bloom. Sunday night I was working on lots of genealogy and communing with my ancestors. I don't participate in ancestor worship as much as I participate in ancestor appreciation and amazement that if any of these hundreds and hundreds of people had changed their course in life, I wouldn't be here today! That night, I asked God for more communication from my ancestors (I know, I'm weird). Monday morning I sat down at the kitchen table and the first thing I saw outside the window was the great-grandma flowers beginning to bloom. These lilies are amazing. They don't give much indication that they are even in the ground all through the summer. Then, just as fall rolls around, they pop up through the ground in full bloom. They surprise me every year. When my great-grandmother gave the bulbs to my mother maybe 30 years ago, she told my mother that these flowers bloomed in the spring. Years went by and there were leaves but no blooms at all. Then that great-grandmother died while I was in college in the late 70s (the only great-grandparent I knew well). She died in August. The next year, the flowers popped up in full bloom in fall, not spring, just around the time she died. Since then they have been our "great-grandma flower" and we have moved them to our various homes. They are in my heritage garden with other plants from long-dead relatives.
So Monday was filled with much reflection on this great-grandma from Alabama, born just after the end of the Civil War and who came to Texas by wagon as a girl. She was not a particularly loving grandma or even a very nice person, by most accounts, but we can't all have a perfect family tree, can we?
My point? Do I have a point? There are millions and millions of people in this world and their interactions and relations are setting the course for hundreds of years to come. I hope the families and friends of all of those who gave their lives in New York, Washington, Pennsylvania, and also in the "war" that has come since, know that those souls are still in the universe and, though I don't think events are predestined, I do believe that all things have their lessons and their purpose. Our generation may never know why these events happened, but maybe they will grow into a greater good in the future.
Personally, I have certainly changed because of September 11. I freely tell people I love them. Okay, I don't tell enough, but a lot more than I would have a year ago. My family has never been much for saying those words, although we've improved with the coming of the nephews, but we have been more communicative about our love since last year and I don't hesitate to tell friends, female and male, how much they mean to me. If I haven't told YOU lately, you do mean a lot to me, I love you! and I appreciate you reading this far with me and keeping up with my life.
An entry tomorrow? We'll see.