September 11

I woke early this morning with a heavy heart. I didn't know why until I turned on the television and realized today was the fifth anniversary of September 11th. My subconscious had remembered what I did not.

Five years ago today, I had taken the week off work. It was a Tuesday morning, and I was getting ready to switch off "Good Morning, America" to go shopping. Charles Gibson abruptly interrupted GMA to report that a plane had slammed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center. I can remember pulling my hand away from the television and sitting down to wait. My cousin Claire worked in that area although I did not know in which building.

Within minutes, ABC was flashing photos of the smoke pouring out of the first tower. They were speculating on the "accident" that had occurred. And then--suddenly the second plane hit the WTC, and the whole world knew that this was no accident.

Nearly thirty-six hours passed before my mother called to say that my cousin Claire and the rest of my extended family were all safe. Most of my very large Irish (Mom's family) and Italian (Dad's family) clan live and work in the New York area. It took some time to do a nose count. Through luck and accident, we had been spared.

I never left my house that day or during the rest of my week's vacation. In the hours and days and weeks that followed, I channeled my grief and horror over the nearly 3,000 deaths into very specific behavior. I would not, could not, be away from a radio or television at any time. I have three television sets in my home--den, study and bedroom. When I was at home, all three were on at all times--even while I slept.

I realize now it was a post traumatic stress reaction. I became hyper-vigilant--as though by doing so I could protect me and mine. It was nearly three months before I recognized the dysfunction and began to wean myself away from what was behavior grounded in magical thinking.

I remember those days when people searched for ways to express love and support for our brothers and sisters in New York. Everyone seemed a little less rushed, a little less self-absorbed, a little less "me, me," as we reached out to help the first responders and the families of the fallen. It was comforting to see other countries extending their sympathies to America. I was very proud to be an American back then.

-----------------

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less...any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind...and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.