nine days

In nine days it’ll be five years.

I know attaching specific emotions to arbitrary time frames is irrational, but it’s also human.

I find myself thinking, once again and not for the last time, about that first plane and how my seven co-workers might have felt. I hope there was a moment of peace and acceptance at the end, if only for a split second.

I think about how they eventually found the remains of at least one of them, and how the family fell out about whether accepting their return was important after they’d “buried” her already.

Acceptance…an odd word, but it seems better than “closure” to me. I think this wound/door will never close.

I think I’ll go back to the memorial garden at work on the Monday and visit.

As I wrote that, I became aware of how the events may have contributed to my desire to leave — how I dived into delivering the “grief counseling/travel seminars” at work in the days after, even though I couldn’t shake my own grief and anger.

I am still angry at them back at work for never understanding how I felt; how the event had shaken my delicate balance of depression and rage. After all, I didn’t “lose anyone.”

But I took the calls from family members that morning. I ran around making sure my close friend Katie wasn’t on the plane (she changed to get frequent flyer miles at the last minute). I stayed for hours calling old associates who’d moved on to tell them what had happened — some of whom were in NY that morning and were thanking God that everyone they knew was safe, until I called them…

I was one of many who sang “Puff the Magic Dragon” to Neilie’s daughter at her funeral, and I’m the one who still can’t hear that song.

Most of all, I’m the one who learned that despite our long rift, Tara had sent her sister to me for advice because she respected me so much. And I’m the one who knew that and never stepped up to tell her how humbled I was by that.

I know — all is forgiven, and I’m not someone who suffered as others have suffered.

But I still think of these things. I still toss and turn.

And no one tried to help me at work…I was just expected to suck it up and do my job. Which I did…

I did.

NOTE: For those of you who’ve responded, I haven’t written back individually, because I think it’s easier to say collectively: Thank you for your thoughts. Musings like this help me; knowing you’re reading and responding helps me too, as I hope it may help you.