Call Me a Dreamer

I didn't think I was going to blog about the events of 9/11/05 until I read this post by my friend janni.

I've never had coherent words for 9/11, which is why I'm forever grateful that John M. Ford did: 110 Stories. . . . I still don't have words, just a mix of sorrow and anger--at the events of the day, and at much of what's happened in the seven years since, too.

I also woke to that message on the radio. I remember sitting in bed, feeling such pain and despair, not just for the people who died directly that day, but because I knew that whoever had committed this deed had set in motion events that were all too likely to cause more pain, bloodshed, and hatred.

At work that day, I stood at the window in the office building where I worked, on the tenth floor of one of Tucson's limited number of high rise buildings. Next to me was a coworker and friend, who was worried about a school friend she knew worked in the World Trade Center (she later learned her friend had died that day). As we stood there, looking out at the bright blue sky, we watched a fighter jet leave a contrail across the sky. We knew that here in Tucson, we were almost certainly safe from any assault similar to those that morning, but we couldn't help but be aware that we stood in a building that lifted above the smaller surrounding buildings. Our minds knew we were safe, but our bodies weren't entirely sure.

Over the next few days, our nation expressed it's reaction to the events in many ways. Some of our leaders, including our president, stood up and promised that they would not let these events move them to blind hatred. I hoped we could believe them. Radio stations played patriotic music and, wanting to support the grieving process of my coworkers who were frustrated at being unable to sing along to songs that they'd never heard in full before, I searched for and printed out the lyrics to a number of patriotic songs. Yet, even as I did this, I worried that the urge to turn to those songs might turn into an urge to defend our nation not just against the terrorists who'd committed the act, but against anyone who might be seen as an outsider. AS the news stories came in, fitting the pieces together about who had done this act, and why, I wrote a poem, which I've since lost in a computer crash, in which I wailed my fear that this act would embroil our nation in war with countries in the Middle East, at the cost of our soldier's lives and the lives of citizens and soldiers in the Middle East. That my fears have since come true leaves me devastated, as I wonder what I could have done to prevent the horrors I foretold. Although I support our soldiers who do their duty, sometimes at the cost of their lives, I am ashamed of the government that so wastes their lives in this act of vengence. It is too mundane a saying for what has happened, but I keep thinking of that old saying that parents use when their children start fighting, each blaming the other: "Two wrongs, does not make a right."

My wish for all of us is one that too often we hear only during the religious holiday season: Peace and goodwill for all.