It's pretty safe to say that I have been emotionally submerged in the World Trade Center since the morning of September 11th.
A lot of my friends are gingerly letting go, beginning to shine and blossom again. They are opening themselves up to new beginnings.
And, of course, that's all good.
But not me.
I'm not sure what the protocol is here.
How long am I allowed to mourn before my friends begin to think I am obsessed?
My mother died nine years ago, and I am still mourning her, but do I have the right to mourn for the thousands who died in the towers? The ones to whom I had any personal connection (that I know of) were only the friends of friends.
This time we enter now, 19 days after the very worst tragedy most of us will ever see hopefully), is a tricky time.
Some of us have already moved on, emotionally changed, but ready to take on the next thing, whatever that might be.
Some of us were perhaps never so deeply affected in the first place. These are probably the same people who don't care about anything until it lands on their own doorstep. I pity these people.
There are folks like me, who did not lose a loved one, but saw the towers crumble and spent some time on ground zero seeing this thing face-to-face. We are perhaps, forever altered. I am, perhaps, forever altered.
I have been utterly and completely tattooed.
There are the ones who have lost family, best friend, lover, spouse, child. Who line up on Pier 94 in search of counseling. Who are only now, however reluctantly, asking for death certificates.
There are the heroes, who are still down there. How can they still be there? Some of them since Day One. The only thing I can compare their homecoming to is that of a Vietnam vet. Will they ever really blend in again?
I remember growing up, my mother would tell me the stories of the Holocaust, about our family members who had died there and the stories she had heard from those who managed to escape. She began to tell me these stories when I was quite young, maybe only 5 or 6 years old.
They terrified me.
When I got older I asked her why she felt it was so important to keep telling me these stories over and again, the same stories each year. She said it was so I would always remember. That it was my duty to remember so it would never happen again.
She said, "Slovah ... you must always remember the words ... never again."
So I do remember, and if I ever have children, I will tell them about the Holocaust and make them promise to repeat the words "never again."
Then I will tell them about the towers and try to explain that in every generation, evil, blind, soulless people do inexplicably terribly things.
But the good has always outweighed the bad.
And for those 19 hijackers and the ring of countless terrorists that they sprung from, there are millions of people sending money, donating blood, lighting candles, holding vigils, volunteering, fighting back and holding goodness in their hearts.
19 days after September 11th, I still smell the weird, thick, burnt smell whenever the wind turns. I wonder how long this aftertaste will be in the air.
Or does it stay simply to keep us from passing this on too quickly?
New Yorkers are not known for their patience. There is nothing more intolerable to us than yesterday's news.
But 19 days later, there is nothing about this that feels yesterday. It is all still on us, as surely as the dust and the smoke has been.
I'm pretty sure it will always be a part of our skyline, the what was, versus the what is.
Yesterday was a very busy day. I had meetings, brunch with friends, shopping to do. I woke up determined to not obsess over the WTC. I figured such a busy day would keep me from going back to it.
On my last meeting of the day, I met with a young couple whose wedding I will cater in two weeks.
The bride asked to have her agenda changed to fit in having her guests sing The Star-Spangled Banner in honor of her close friend who died in the WTC.
"We were planning our weddings together. Hers was just 6 days after mine," the bride explained. Then her fiancé nudged her. "Tell her, " he said, "Tell her."
Her friend had mailed her a gift on the morning of September 11th on her way to work. It was a Barbie doll in a hot red outfit. It was just a fun joke-gift between girlfriends. The sexy Barbie had reminded her of her gal pal. So she popped it in the mail and caught the train to work.
The package had arrived yesterday.
"She called me on Monday, the day before it happened and told me she'd never been happier in her life," the bride-to-be said, "That's the only thing I cling too, that at least she got to feel that much happiness."
Maybe today, yes, today, I will not talk about The World Trade Center. I will not think about it, and I will move on with my life.
Enough is enough ... Time to think about other things ... nice breezy day ... a little cold, but nice ... kinda gray but ... nice ... a little sad and overcast ... but ... but ...
