Processing.....nine years later

I don't know if I've ever talked about the September 11th attacks here. And as someone who has made virtually every facet of their life an open book it's surprising that I don't talk about it more. The fact is that nine years later I'm still trying to process it all. I don't talk about because it's still so surreal and FRESH.....and so unbelievable.

On the morning of September 11, 2001 I was walking towards the World Trade Center. I had business in the building. I was wearing light colored gabardine pants, a white shirt and beautiful new boots that set me back a weeks pay. They were gift to myself for some fabulous achievement or another.

I remember feeling distraught about my life. I remember that the air was crisp and I remember looking at that brilliant blue September sky and thinking that everything in my life would just fall into place as long as I remembered to BREATHE.

The sky just kept getting bluer and bluer, and the air got warmer. I stopped at the Boule Bakery and had breakfast and continued my trek towards the towers. I was still drawn to that brilliant blue sky.

And that's when I saw it. The plane. And truth be told it was one of those sights that is so ludicrous that you initially dismiss it. And then you register that there is, indeed, a shadow above you. From the plane. And although it takes a few seconds your brain begins to process the conversations of the people around you and you confirm that, yes, there is in fact a plane that is about to crash into the World Trade Center.

I don't remember a lot of specific events from that day. I remember the noise. I remember the debris and not being able to breath. I remember the stench. I remember having no sense of direction and getting completely turned around. It took me almost 12 hours to get out of the city. It was like a mass exodus.

When I finally got back to my apartment; hobbling along like an wounded warrier, I was EXHAUSTED. I stopped at the dumpster outside, took off my boots and trashed them. I walked into my apartment and shed articles of clothing one by one en route to my bathroom. I looked in the mirror. My hair was matted down with debris. I smelled like fuel. I was covered head to toe in DUST and I was too worn out to shower.

I wanted to watch the news because on my long trek back to New Jersey I'd heard snippets here and there but I didn't know WHAT had happpened. I only had an antennae on my TV and I remember static. I still had my cell phone and my purse but I hadn't been able to get a signal all day. I was alone.

I remember that as I got into bed, still completely covered in debris, that I'd just process everything "tomorrow". I didn't think that tomorrow would mean nine years later.

Prayer

I've never been particularly religious; it simply wasn't something I was introduced to as a child. My grandfather never particularly took to the local minister. In fact he hated him so much that when they passed each other on the street my grandfather spat in his path.

Oddly enough the reason for this was me. I went to kindergarten with the minister's daughter who one day kindly advised me that I was an illegitimate child. My grandfather (rightly) deduced that this was something she heard at home. Needless to say my childhood never included anything church related.

It's odd that I find myself as an adult suddenly drawn to prayer. I've been undergoing treatment for lupus. I haven't really talked to many people about this. And I haven't really fully explained it to the people I have spoken with. I think most folks just think that I'm tired and grumpy all the time. The issue is once you tell people you're "ill" they start to feel bad for you and your illness takes center stage. Or they can't help you and as a result ignore you because they don't know what to say or do. People FEAR the illness.

I have a hard time being ill. I have a very hard time asking for help. But because of the circumstances there are times when I do need help. I simply can't do it all myself so I pray for a lot of different things. Mainly because I had so many people asking me if I was praying. One day I woke up and I felt compelled.

The thing is that prayer has opened me up to other things and now praying for myself seems selfish. My prognosis is good. And asking for help to make my life more pleasant just seems wrong. Especially when I think of all the ways that my life is good. We eat well, we're safe, my son is happy and healthy, we aren't lacking for food or clean water, I have health insurance, I'm employed, our Christmas will be merry. I have no right to complain because I am blessed. And I take things for granted every single day.

I've always said that I would be a very proactive parent. I would talk to Mr. Little Man about sex and drugs and every other parental concern well before he would ever hear about these things from friends. And I think I've done a good job thus far.....of course, I'm completely omitting the fact that even though I've got my speech prepared he may not be ready to HEAR it. That's kind of one of the joys of parenthood: being surprised. I've spoken to him about the basic differences between boys and girls, but just because the words were coming out of my mouth doesn't necessarily mean that his brain was processing them. In my infinite wisdom I had forgotten one very important fact: I can't set the time table for being prepared to learn about things.

We are very relaxed at our house; something that was a hold over from my own childhood. My mother regularly walked around the house in her underwear and no one thought anything of it. It was normal; the way it was supposed to be. Even in my own apartment we have a relaxed sense of personal boundaries. Except starting today we don't.

Mr. Little Man, like most children, has no sense of personal space. This morning he decided to bounce into the bathroom while I was coming out of the shower. He wanted cereal and apparently could not wait another 3 minutes until I was done. And I did what I always do: listen patiently while I'm drying off. And at that very moment, every single bit of planning I had done as a parent flew out the window without me noticing until it was too late.

Mr. Little Man's eyes drifted south as he was trying to decide between Apple Jacks and Fruit Loops and he screamed, "OH MY GOD! WHAT HAPPENED?"

My mind was apparently not processing things quickly because I had to ask why he was screaming and again he said, "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, WHAT HAPPENED??? YOUR PENIS FELL OFF". Despite all my planning I had forgotten something very basic, so, of course, I panicked. And I screamed right back, "GIRLS HAVE A VAGINA, BOYS HAVE A PENIS". This did nothing to alleviate his concerns that my penis had mysteriously vanished. But it was the best thing I could come up with on the fly.

It's safe to say I'll be up late tonight reading all the parenting books and trying to figure out how I can alleviate his worries.

Once Upon a Time.....

....I was a blogger. And then I stopped. I didn't really have a good reason, I just didn't have it in me anymore. A friend of mine had recently died and I was kind of struggling through the grief. A couple of days after his passing I sat down to write a tribute to him. I thought that it would be difficult but the words just poured out and it seemed to be the fastest thing I'd ever written.

Anyone that knows me well will tell you my fave short story is The Swimmer by John Cheever. Mr. Cheever once said that he never wrote quickly. His writings were a series of revisions and edits. He sat down one day and wrote The Swimmer; the story just poured out of him and when he was done he was spent. It took months for him to write anything else. That's how I felt after Woody died. Like I poured everything I had into his tribute and when I was done I was literally done.

And people would ask why I'd stopped blogging but I didn't really have a good answer other than writer's block. It just lost it's appeal.

And although I wouldn't fully say that I'm back to blogging on a regular basis I will say that I have a lot of things to get off my chest. A lot of things I want to talk about and work through. And I can't think of a more perfect place.

WHAT?

After a not so brief absence I'll be back to blogging shortly....with the Music post.

I know ya'll are excited.

In the meantime, I leave you with this:

Things you will never catch me doing...

....waiting in line for hours (and sometimes DAYS) for a new phone, iPod, or other electronic device.

Let's talk about the election....in California

I had always considered California a liberal state so I will admit that I'm a bit puzzled that they were able to get Prop8 on the ballot there.

Prop8 is a state amendment titled ELIMINATION OF THE RIGHT OF SAME SEX COUPLES TO MARRY. Now, I live in New Jersey, which is also a liberal minded state. But I think what California is doing is horrid so I'm actively letting folks know. Why? I do not want California to set a precedent. I don't want anyone to think that denying same sex couples the right to anything is OK, because it isn't.

This isn't about having gay friends or straight friends. This is about other people telling you who it is OK to love. And it's about not extending basic rights to someone based on who they want to sleep next to at night. I know several homosexual couples that have been together for a decade or more. They nurse each other through illnesses, they support each other through bad times and they celebrate their triumphs.

Voting down Prop8 should be a triumph. No one should be denied the right to live their lives as a married couple equal in the eyes of all other married couples.

And John Cho says it better that I ever could: