The Day That Exploded

This week everyone is remembering.  Because we are not supposed to forget.

So I will remember....

I was teaching middle school Spanish.

The assistant principal came to the door to say a plane had crashed in the World Trade Center and not to turn on the TV.

I didn't know what the World Trade Center was.

I was fresh out of college.  Very young.  Very naive.

At lunch I realized what was going on, but needed people to explain to me what all the politics were.  I never heard of the World Trade Center, or the terrorists groups, or anything.

After work I needed gas because I had coasted into the parking lot that morning on fumes.  Due to the uncertainty of what was going to happen with the middle east?  The lines at the pumps were unbelievable.

I almost ran out of gas waiting.  And I paid about a million dollars.

I went to my boyfriend's house.  He had slept through the whole damn day.  He worked third shift, but it seemed unreal.  I turned the TV on for him and he almost shat himself.

I went home to my parents' house.  My mom wouldn't stop watching the news.  She said she thought this was what had been foretold in Revelation.

I told her to get a grip.  Just because bad stuff was happening to Americans didn't mean the world was ending.  I told her to remember the Holocaust and the atomic bombs and other countries who had more people die.  And the end of the world didn't happen.

I was angry.

I was angry that these terrorists made America start talking about Armageddon like we were the only country that mattered.

I was angry that moms and dads and uncles and aunts and brothers and sisters went to work like it was no big deal and weren't going to come home.

I was angry at the patriotism, but also found comfort in it.

I was angry that people forgot for a minute that it was my little brother's 16th birthday FIRST.  It was HIS DAY before it was the terrorist's day.

I was angry that people kept saying, "if this then the terrorists win," "if that then the terrorists win,".

I was angry that for awhile?  EVERYTHING was blamed on terrorism and American reverted to the old witch hunt mentality again.  If you're not with us, you must be against us.

When will we learn our lesson?

When will we realize that these egocentric attitudes and easily divisiveness is exactly why others hate us.

When will we really be able to remember that love that everyone talks about?

Love means not hating.

I don't think Americans can quit their habit of hating.  They want to.  They do.  They keep talking about needing to spread the love, but in the name of love?  They hate.

And this is something I will remember.  That spreading hate?  Will make a day explode again.

missing a you

A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable."   ~William Wordsworth

Today my family went to the beach.

We got their via boat because this particular beach is inaccessible by land unless you walk a LONG way.

The boaters that gather at this slice of beach have been coming here regularly for years.  It's their summer location.  They even have a gas powered blender (think string-trimmer motor meets blender.) they rig up specially for beachy drinks like margaritas, pina coladas, and daquaris. It really is the most lovely place to be on a hot summer day.

Today we made the trek out to this beach.  The waves were rolling at about 2 to 3 feet, but were sporadic enough that we could take the "small" boat (28 feet) without too much trouble.

As we approached the stretch of beach, we noticed that from where we were, it looked like the beach was nonexistent.  Or at least...vertical.  From where we were anchoring it looked as if the lake lapped up on shore and then the shore went straight up a dune.  For miles.

But we were determined.

And as everyone jumped in and handed off coolers and beach bags and children and bag chairs, I turned and looked out the other way.  To the part of the lake where there is no land in sight.

I remembered another time we road out to this beach.  A time almost five years ago.

We were on a bigger boat that time.  The waves were a bit smaller, but not much and it was just as breezy. 

On our way out, two brothers and a sister road together on the bow.  This would be their last time to take this ride together in this way.  This would be their last boat ride with dad.

As we cut the motors and floated, everyone gathered in the stern of the boat--around dad.  And the minister held dad.

There were many boats then as there was today, but unlike today, no one was anchoring.  No one was laughing and splashing water as they jumped off boats.  No one wore swimsuits.

Words were spoken.  I don't really remember the specific words.  I was too busy feeling watched.

After the words, dad was put in his favorite place--the lake.  The lake that gives way to the beach.  The beach that the boaters go to.

The boaters gave him a tribute.  They still do.

And this is where we visit him.  This is where we feel him most.  This is why, before jumping off the boat today, I took a big breath and said, "hey Pops!  Good to see you today! I like what you've done with the place."

And each time today I was told that my son looks like his grandpa, I smiled.  Because he does.  But I think he looked like him MORE today, if that is possible.

We had a cloudless, blue sky.  We had crashing, rolling waves to play in.  We had a breeze that kept us comfortable.

And we had a pleasant ride back.

Today was a good day visiting Pops.

for whatever we lose (like a you or a me),
it's always our self we find in the sea. 
~e.e. cummings

Who Sucked Out the Feeling?

Sunday has been my favorite day of the week for a long time.  Even now, after the fact, I have come to love Sunday again.  But for a while, Sunday was unbearable, debilitating me into a useless ball of nothingness.

Sunday felt cozy, like wrapping a down-filled comforter around me after a hot shower.  Sunday was sleepy.  Sunday was a day of rest, replenishing all the energy that was drained from me during the busy workweek.  Sunday was the day I spent with him.  He would watch football, commenting on the teams, criticizing the calls and complaining about the players on his fantasy team.  I would watch him, commenting on teams’ uniforms, criticizing the complexity of the calls, and complaining about the fact that he has so many fantasy teams.  Sunday smelled and tasted like pizza.  Half mushrooms and olives, half pepperoni and sausage.  Sunday meant togetherness.

Then Sunday changed.  I was alone a lot on Sunday. My heart felt like a deflated balloon left in the corner of the gym after a high school dance, useless and forgotten.  My body felt drained like something had sucked all of the feeling out of me with a vacuum cleaner, leaving me void of all emotion except emptiness.  I tried to go through the motions of what Sunday was supposed to be but it felt like I was outside of myself looking in, wondering if the fragile shell that I was walking around in would shatter and leave me as a pile of dust that would blow away as if I never existed.  Sunday suddenly felt like a heavy weight, a pile of bricks that someone had placed on my shoulders, crushing me little by little until I crumbled into a mound of hopeless human flesh.  Sunday blended with Monday and Thursday and Tuesday and Saturday and Friday and Wednesday.  Sunday was not special anymore; it was as painful as the rest of the days.  Sunday felt like it was a week long because, in a way, it was. 

Sunday is changing again, like summer is changing into fall.  With the return of football is the return of togetherness.  But just as the teams are slightly different this season in football, so has the togetherness been altered.

This was originally written six years ago.