So, I had posted something on Sunday in an effort to commemorate what happened on 9/11, or to make myself feel as if I’d addressed it in some appropriate way, etc. Any number of different drivers contributed to it, and it was a pretty basic, unspecial post.
And I didn’t feel any better for having written it, and I certainly didn’t feel any better for having posted it. I just kept feeling worse, more mopey and aimless than the day before. After discussing this with a few people who I really trust when it comes to these kinds of things, I’ve come to the conclusion that I have exhausted myself and this topic of 9/11.
I am just about out of crap to say about it.
It. Freaking. Sucks. Obviously, I wish it had never happened, I wish the world could be different, I wish soldiers didn’t fight and die in the resulting war, etc. Obviously. I was a kid when this happened. Yeah, I was 17, but think about who you were at 17. We were kids. And maybe stuff that happens right on the cusp of childhood and adulthood really affects us that much more. Who knows? I don’t think I have ever claimed to be the most mature or stable or even coherent individual, and therefore, you may draw any conclusions you want.
I sort of figured that by yesterday morning, all the 24-7, re-saturation coverage of the anniversary would be over, but turns out I was wrong. So I just turned on DVR episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba for Russ to watch while I cleaned house and made some food for a friend with a new baby, because honestly, it was the only way to start climbing out of the hole I’d dug myself into. When it’s on every channel, it’s hard to skip it all and watch the Weather Channel, but that’s sort of what I had to do yesterday. Which makes sense, because it was this side of a year ago that I was in the hospital in labor, asking Jonathan to keep it on The Weather Channel. When he asked me why on earth I’d want to watch – like, just sit and WATCH – The Weather Channel, in all my Ambien-induced super-honesty, my answer was blunt and of two parts: Jim Cantore is kinda hot, and Weather Channel music is extremely soothing to me. I blame it on growing up in Hurricane Alley.
In any case, I’m over it. It’s done. There is not going back and undoing it, no matter how we relive it, no matter how we try to understand it. There won’t ever be understanding for what happened on that really, really, really, horrendously s***ty day (and I’m sorry for cussing, but seriously, to call that day “crappy” just wouldn’t quite be adequate). At least, not in my mind. You can have all your understanding, if you’re that on top of things – good for ya. I’m not, and I can’t change it. So this is what you get with me and 9/11 – a whole lot of sadness, sleeplessness, and chocolate cravings. Weird? Yes. Never said I was anything but.
As my friend put it, the whole point of getting past these events in life, especially when it comes to terrorism, is to continue living our lives. If we keep replaying the images, reabsorbing the pain and ugliness of it, etc. – we’re just letting those people continue to have the exact result they were seeking on the very Tuesday it all began. So next year, I’m not going to do this again. Next year, I’m going to simply remember fondly the fact that on 9/11/10, I was due with my first child. And that my friends Jade and Emily were born. And plenty more babies were born, all sharing that same “nasty” date that came in like Courtney Love at a Sweet Sixteen party and just vomited on everything. A lot of good things have happened on that day, too – and next year, I’m going to make a concerted effort to turn off the TV, get out of the house, hug my kid, kiss my husband, and think about what a lucky girl I am.