9-11, Just This

Just this. The day the planes were hijacked, they were bound for California; many people were coming home to Calif to their loved ones.

When you think of this day and you think of the many lost at the Pentagon, at the Trade Towers and in the field at Pennsylvania, think too of the 180+ California families who lost everything dear to them that day.

Many of you know that as a post-trauma specialist and psychoanalyst, I have worked with 9-11 survivor families in California and on the East Coast since 2001.

I’ll tell you about one family person who was, as grieving people in such circumstances are wont to say, ‘left behind’: a beautiful young man who lost his young fiancé on one of the planes used as bombs in NYC.

When I first met him, shortly after that nearly-unspeakable slaughter of innocents, he walked into the room, if you could call it walking, held up by his mother and father, an aged couple with the grief of the ages written on their faces. They’d brought him, hauling him almost as dead weight, like a sack of broken glass, to this meeting for ’survivor families.’

His parents too, had loved his novia, sweetheart, dearly. Their son had just finished college, the first in his family. The parents, and I know you will understand this if you have ever had a beloved family member suddenly lose a person dear to them…. the parents had not just lost their future of already-imagined sweet grandchildren and a daughter-in-love whom they cherished…. from 9-11 forward, and for many years forward, they also lost their own son…. even though he was still living.

‘Wordless with grief’ is not just a phrase. How parents can lose a child even though that child is still alive, is not covered by the AP or the NYT. Perhaps, properly so.

This young man sat through the entire gathering, unstirring, even when a representative of the Governor’s office came to speak to him softly. The young man just looked at the official blankly. The Governor’s rep actually did his very best but said things that fell like tired dough…. “The Governor grieves with you,” and “The Governor will do all he can to bring ‘these people’ to justice.”

I know what the young man was hearing. He was not hearing the well-intentioned official trying to find traction somewhere, somehow

The young man, at an age when most are still at the height of their desire to protect and defend and watch over and cherish…. this young man was still hearing the roar of the engines revved, the plane shaking practically to pieces with the sudden lurch forward; he was still holding his beloved, holding her tight, Te amo, Te amo, Te amo, mio Dio, Dio mio, as he and she, in most every way except one, died together in a fireball of concrete, jet fuel, metal and human beings.

Over and over, for the years forward, at night and during daylight, this young man would protect her and protect her, and die with her.

Over and over, for years on end…. until the images, just from the thinking them day in and day out, just from night dreaming them even against one’s own will, just from feeling this nightmare so many hours of each day… like wearing the same suit of clothes every day for years… eventually the fabric thins, doesn’t hold together as strongly…

That is how grief winds its way through us also. What remains: Strong, strong love. Strong, strong feelings of loyalty. But, the episodes of grief eventually occurring farther and father apart. The feeling of walking dead, not quite so weighted with thousand pound weights.

Then, the moments of sobbing and heart-stabbing and staring off into the distance, will eventually last more and more briefly, until … perhaps not even on the anniversary, and certainly not daily, a soul might be drawn back to remember… but is not daily-garotted with grief for their beloved …

Then, days, weeks, even months are spent in relative peace, yet although the flashbacks now occur far apart from one another, suddenly, everything comes slamming home again, and for an instant, or usually for a few minutes only, the grief is as rich and shattering as it once was at the beginning.

Then, it is gone. Done. Until next time.

These flashbacks sometimes have recognizable triggers, but sometimes they are triggered by we know not what. But eventually, we are no longer surprised that Griefman sneaks up and guts us. We say, Old Friend, I know you. And we manage. To go on. Pick ourselves up, sew ourselves back together. And even, much of the time, be some version of reasonably happy in between times. Maybe even often. It’s alright.

I saw this young man twice more. The second time, he could walk by himself. The third time, he could talk.

In case anyone asks: You don’t get over such things. As my daughter says about losing her firstborn son: You learn to live with it. And halfway well. Sometimes more so. Bruce Springsteen: Life goes on.

We all know that no one can guarantee a world free of suffering. I wish we could, dearly wish we could. And, there are a lot of ways to kill people with scorn and hatred…. flying planes into buildings is only one.

I’d just like to say this for this day, but also for other days insofar as we can: Let us be good to each other where we are, and while we can, however we can. Savings accounts. For future anything and everything. Storing up for whomever might have need. Consciously, in the shelter of each other.