Paying Tribute

If you know me personally then you likely know I have a strange fascination with the Kennedy family. There are several reasons for this preoccupation, none of which are relevant for this post. I can tell you that I’ve read quite a few pieces of literature and seen quite a few films on the Kennedy clan, much of which includes or even focuses on the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Whether fiction or non-fiction, almost all media describes or features the famous Zapruder film and other eye witness accounts of what happened on that day.  Although those records are utterly heart wrenching and tragic, the stories that have always captivated me are those from everyone else that were around and aware on that terrible day in history. Even from the time I was a child and learning about this awful day in history, I remember marveling at the ability of regular humans to recount exactly where they were when they learned of the news.

Twenty, thirty, and even fifty years after the horrific day, people could remember where they were standing, what they were wearing, how they found out, and what they were feeling.  As someone with an average memory (I am being generous) at best, I candidly have had a hard time reconciling the precise nature of these narratives. Well, that is, until I lived through the day that is now referred to as 9/11.

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was standing in my apartment on 25^th and K Streets in Washington D.C. I was in my senior year of college at the George Washington University. I was watching a Golden Girls rerun on television and I was wearing jean shorts and a tank top. I was preparing to leave my apartment to journey to a friend’s apartment so a bunch of us could all walk to class together. Before the news broke through my television program or my phone rang, I heard commotion outside. I had this big beautiful picture window that took up nearly my entire front wall and I distinctly remember how quickly anxiety filled my body as I peeked out and saw cars driving over the concrete dividers and people running down the streets. I knew something was wrong but I just didn’t know what yet.

Turning my attention back to the television, the emergency news story about the North Tower of the World Trade Center had replaced regular programming. I was having difficulty processing what was actually happening when I picked up the phone to call home, in New York. I had the briefest and most incomplete of conversations when the phone line suddenly went dead. I tried with mounting panic to call again to no avail. Feeling scared and incredibly solitary, I grabbed my bag and headed out the door to be with friends.  My sense of dread only grew as I saw the hysteria on the streets of D.C. and then escalated when I overheard a fellow traveler explain how she had heard that smoke could be seen in the sky across the Potomac where the Pentagon was located. Rather than understanding the full magnitude of what was happening, I remember thinking that perhaps I had misheard the news reporter and thought New York had been under attack when it was really D.C.  It truly never occurred to me that both the city where I currently lived and the city where I came from could be plagued by terrorist attacks at all, let alone on the very same morning.

I am going to take a pause for a moment because you might be wondering why I am electing to bring up this topic or this day on my “relationship” blog. In some ways, this very post is a departure from what I normally write about but in the most important way it is the very crux of what I write about. The key difference between my normal ramble and today’s post is that the tidbit I am going to share with you today is not something I am struggling with or still trying to figure out. Neither on that fateful day nor since, have I confused about the following inalienable fact: You can spend your life, however long or short, being sad for what you don’t have or you can bask in the love that surrounds you; the choice is yours.

On September 11, 2001, I was in a dysfunctional relationship. Shocking, I know. I was with someone who had a loyalty problem and thus, I found myself in that oh so comfortable and uncomfortable position of insecurity and uncertainty. In addition to that happy little detail, I was facing early graduation from college in December and I was terrified. My decision to graduate six months early had somewhat distanced me from my friends and fellow students, both because I was drowning in school work to get to the finish line and because there was the ever-present reality that I would not be standing next to them at graduation. As previously discussed, as my fellow students and friends “walked” to claim their respective diplomas I would be frolicking around Europe. In September 2001, I was barely one month into my last semester of college and most of my days were overwhelming and a little lonely. Here’s the thing though, as the truth of the events of that day began to unravel, I didn’t feel any of that. I felt fear and grief. I felt apprehensive and anxious. I felt heartbroken and angry. But do you know what I felt most of all? Gratitude. I was so very grateful for my life. I was so very appreciative for the people that I loved and who loved me in return. I felt so blessed to be safe and healthy. I marveled at the roof over my head, the food on my table, and the fine education that I had been treated to thus far. I felt privileged and so very lucky.

I’ve spoken about gratitude on the blog before and I’ve also explored a lack of gratitude, and the consequences of both. I am not suggesting that this thankfulness I am espousing in no way resembles that described in my earlier posts, but also, I am. Appreciation is what it is. You see the silver lining, the light at the end of the tunnel, and the fullness of the cup. However, when faced with a tragedy of such epic proportions as 9/11, the gratitude is all at once more bountiful and nuanced. It is bigger and it is softer. On that day, I found myself as thankful for my family and friends as I was my working fingers and toes. I did not see the negative or the darkness in the spaces in front of me. Through my sadness at such deplorable acts of hatred, I felt pride and gratitude for the multitude of freedoms that I have enjoyed my entire life and that I knew I would continue to enjoy.

After that day, I didn’t start valuing myself in the way that I maybe should have. I didn’t make better or kinder decisions in my relationships. I did not have a solid understanding of where I was going wrong and how deeply unworthy I actually felt. It would take me years and many, many more awful choices and actions for me to begin to shift that paradigm and begin a real self-exploration. The thing is, that didn’t really matter because those two sentiments were not and are not inextricably linked.

You might be inspired by all the thoughtful memes, photographs, and chronicles that are crafted in remembrance of 9/11. I know that I am. However, I don’t really need a reminder. I vividly remember that day in absolute Technicolor. I remember the hugs from my friends when I finally landed on their doorstep, the full breath in my lungs when I finally stopped crying, and the faces of my family when I was able to see them weeks later. Whatever came before that day doesn’t really matter because every day since I’ve lived with total gratitude. During the most difficult periods in my life when I felt hopeless and scared, I have clung to those who have supported me through, rather than those who have left. I have relished where I have returned to over what I was forced to abandon. I have readily allowed laughter and joy to infiltrate my gloom.

There are many ways to pay tribute to those brave souls who suffered and endured on September 11, 2001 and thus since. For those who lost their lives on that day, who lost their spirit, who lost their loved ones, or who have suffered egregiously since, I honor them with my gratitude. I am unendingly grateful for their sacrifices. I am so very thankful for the blessed life I lead and the people who fill it.

I will never forget September 11, 2001. I will never forget where I was, what I was doing, and how I felt. I will never forget the willing and unwilling sacrifices that so many people made on that day. I will also forever find gratitude in the life around me and in the relationships that I treasure.

You will have good days and bad. You will be sad and mad and frustrated. You are entitled to everything you feel and I am not suggesting otherwise. I am simply encouraging you to find a spot of light in the darkness. I am inviting you to find goodness in the terrible. I am sharing that sometimes the best tribute comes in the form of the quietest blessing.

There are many moments to spend wondering at the craziness of human connection. Make the rest of em’ count.

Until the next…

L.