It's that time of year again. Suddenly the whole world wants to remember the events of 9/11. Everyone's changing their profile pictures to something patriotic or some sort of memorial picture. People are posting status updates and blogs about it, or uploading pictures from the site. There are questions posted of "where were you" or "what do you remember?" There are hundreds of stories all over the newspapers, TV and internet from survivors or family members. Then, there's the rest of us. The ones who live with 9/11 every day and who don't need a special anniversary or time set aside to remember.
Even more frustrating this year is the release of several books, one of which hits way too close to home. Meant to serve as a memorial tribute and encouragement, this book was written by a psychologist. My husband's psychologist. I learned more about my husband's experiences with 9/11 by reading the book than I have in 7 years of marriage to him. Along with those memories came some very heart-wrenching truths that he shared in confidence with this counselor, only to be read by me and others mentioned in the book, causing old wounds to rip open, new realizations to appear, and harsh realities to be unveiled. Yes, the counselor puts the disclaimer in the beginning that names have been changed and stories altered a bit to protect the identity of those really discussed. But, when she outright tells you which character is you, the rest just kind of falls into place. I don't know which was more difficult to digest - learning truths so many years later, or reliving some of the things we'd put to rest so long ago. Thanks Liz - or not.
People tell us all the time, "we get it," "we understand," "we are here for you," "we know." Really? No, you don't. No one gets it. Just like I don't pretend to understand what the widows and kids have gone through, nor what each surviving firefighter went through, or their wives and kids. The only reality I know is ours: what Don and I have journeyed through both individually and together since 2001. We've climbed up the ladder out of the pit of the disaster. Sometimes we get slowed down, or we slip a few rungs. Events like the death of Bin Laden or a terrorist attack overseas can cause us to trip up on our climb. Things like reading the book can break a rung we're standing on and cause us to tumble a bit. But we're both still there on the ladder, together, still climbing. We catch each other before we fall too far. We've climbed too high to let broken pieces of the ladder send us back to the beginning. If we're going to fall and hit rock bottom, it'll be together.
Each year we're faced with the decision of what - and how much - to share with our kids about that day. We're forced to decide whether to include them in the day at the firehouse, or keep them sheltered a little longer. Looking around at their faces this year, and knowing another face is soon to join them, we choose to shelter them for one more year. They know enough for their 6 years. Their innocent bliss was shattered a couple of years ago. Why make it worse until we have to?
We have come to one major conclusion this year. This will be our final year going into Manhattan and to the firehouse for the anniversary. Enough is enough. We both want some distance. We want to get away. We want to leave the memories where they lay. We want to push the visuals far from us and keep climbing up the ladder without looking back. We'll put up with the interviews and cameras this year, but come next year, we'll be far away from the Big Apple on this day. Politicians, media, and people who think they are doing a good thing by making big celebrations of the event each year can participate without us. We'll remember in our own way, every day, as we see the picture of Sal & Don in the hall, or when we come across a card some schoolkid gave us during the recovery. We'll remember with each doctor visit or each encounter with a friend who was there. As Jack said on the 5-year anniversary, 9/11 is something that happened. It happened to us. It is something we live with every day, but it does not and should not control us. We move on. We have to. We never forget. We carry it with us every second of every day. It's there. It's not going to go away. But it's not the boss. It's not in charge. We choose to remember and reflect, and we choose to live our lives, just as our friends we lost would have wanted us to do.
Save us the empathy and words meant to help. They don't. Sorry to be so blunt and harsh - but they do nothing but irritate us more. This post wasn't written to encourage comments of sympathy. It was written to give you more of a glimpse inside, more understanding, and more about us. Read, reflect, come to your own conclusions, and leave us be about this day in history. Let us deal with it together, in our own way, in the way that has helped us survive so far. We're climbing. We're okay. We're going to make it. We've come so far and we're doing fine. We don't expect you to get it or understand. In some ways, we don't want you to. It was our experience, our journey, our situation to work through together, as a couple and as a family. Just let us keep climbing in peace.
