This morning, I have already been awake for hours. In a while, I will call my parents, and I will get in touch with my son away at college. I have already prepared barbecue pork for tonight's meal, and I am about to return to the weekend chores, both housework and paperwork. This afternoon, my wife is going to a "grandma shower" for a friend who will need stuff in her house for when the newborn grandchild visits, and I will have some time alone with the younger kids. It feels a lot like a regular Sunday around here.
On television, they show depictions of ceremonies in remembrance of the immediate victims of the 9-11 attacks as they acknowledge how much so many of us globally have been affected, and I am finding these ceremonies much more moving than I expected. I had forgotten how powerful uncertainty can be.
On that morning ten years ago, I was the undergraduate director for the East Tennessee State University English Department, and that position, as well as my teaching assignments, required a great deal of attention. My wife and I had dropped our children off at school and daycare, and I was running music in my office as I dealt with that day's paperwork. I always keep my office doors open when I work, and I could tell that something different was going on in the hallways. One of my colleagues, clearly shaken, told me what had happened, but she had only sketchy information. My wife called, too, and we talked matters out, assuring ourselves as best we could with the limited information we had. I remember, though, that we both were frustrated that we could not pull up the CNN website, and at about the same time we realized that we could tune into National Public Radio for information. We decided to leave the children where they were--the schools were permitting parents to pick up children, but we saw no point in rushing home to huddle--rushing anywhere seemed beyond question, and as much as I yearned to have all of the family members together, I knew that our running down to Alabama would still need to wait for a couple of weeks. We needed to hold out for a bit of information before acting; it was a time to curb reflexes and to avoid being overwhelmed by emotion. We needed to grieve, but, as with other circumstances calling for grief, we had to remember and prepare for living the next few hours to preserve our own hope and to preserve it in our community and families.
I do not think about 9-11 specifically every day, but I do think about how our world has changed so much in the past decade. Every day, our nation is at war. Every day, our elected officials (I cannot bring myself to refer to the majority of them as "public servants" any more) disagree over philosophy and neglect pragmatism. Every day, I see the increasing gulf between the creed that all are equal and actual practice, in both domestic and foreign policy. Every day, I find myself romanticizing a past where life seems much more simple from today's perspective, even though I know better.
Then, with any luck, I will catch someone smiling, I will hear a lyric, I will have an opportunity to show kindness, I will share a laugh about pure absurdity, I will disagree in a friendly way with someone, I will remember someone, I will overhear a loved one in another room.
These 9-11 commemorations touch tender places, and, as with other mourning, I adapt as many of us do, with gratitude for those who help us and hope for those we help in turn.
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