As all of the buzz swarms around the 10th anniversary of 9/11, I cringe as show after show passes before my eyes on TV. Of course I remember where I was. Of course I remember how I felt, and the years have not healed that. I was the shocked mother of three young children that physically saw the second plane hit the tower. My brain struggled to assimilate what I was seeing and the refusal of said brain to accept. The panic was very real. What should I do?? What is going on? Are we at war? Is there more? Logically speaking, I felt a little comfort in the fact that I was living in the middle of the country in a city that was most likely not a tempting target for terrorist. But the horror and processing of what I had seen has still not come full circle. I have cried, I have watched, glued to my television, I did as my President said and did not change my life and did not let myself be afraid to do things.
I have been to New York and visited Ground Zero - twice. The first time, all I saw was a construction zone. I don’t know what I had expected. Something hushed? Hallowed? But not tons of cold concrete and a big, ugly steel construction fence. The second time I got to visit the American Express building and here they had a lovely memorial set up to honor their colleagues that had lost their lives. It was beautiful and moving, but afterwards, we passed through a mall, up a large flight of steps, to massive windows that overlooked, yep, a construction zone. I am hoping on my next visit, with the pools done, it will show some progress and be more of a meditative healing place.
But in my heart and in my mind, not yet. I cannot say I am healed yet.
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