Marking Time

This is a very bizarre day. I want to curl up in ball in a corner somewhere. Retraumatized from all the 9/11 rehash that's been on TV. I could turn it off, and have...maybe not for the last time today. Saw the Falling Man last night. That had me crying. And remembering.


The morning of 9/11 I was at home. I didn't have to be at work until 3 so I was relaxing on the couch. The fact that I - and my roommate was - was awake at all is amazing. Neither of us saw day until at least 11 am or so.



But we were both up and I was watching TV. I knew immediately that something major was going on as soon as I turned to TV on, so I switched to CNN and there it was. The towers, the planes, the tragedy enfolded in front of me.



My jaw dropped at the sight, the commentary. I knew it was happening for real, but didn't want to believe it. My only thought at first was for all those people. Then the unthinkable happened when the towers dropped to the ground. Unimaginable is more like it. Still, to this day, it seems impossible that such a thing should have happened.



I called my mother. It was the only person I could think of whose voice would offer me some solace. She was as shocked as me. I heard it in her tone. A while later my job called to tell me not to come in that day. They, and the entire country, seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. Wondering where it would happen. When. How. A bank as high profile as the one I was working for at the time needed to protect itself (including its people).



Six years later the shock is still there. The pain. Indeed, the pain has deepened because on top of the people who died in the initial attack there has been all the soldiers fighting overseas. Some say pointlessly, some say with purpose.



Regardless, they're still dead.