September 12th Reflections

I have written and rewritten this blog about 4 times since yesterday, trying to figure out how to say what I wanted to say about 9.11. (And in the interest of blogging integrity, I must say that I first published this blog this morning on another of my sites. I have made few changes.)

One of the prevailing thoughts that I have is that I haven't really a right to stand and weep in the streets of New York over the loss of life and change in the world that came about on that day. I wasn't a New Yorker; I wan't here on 9.11. I was asleep in my bed 3,000 miles away, in California. About as far removed from it as you could possibly be. I was spared the live images, the noise, the smell and the white-hot fear of not knowing if I was going to make it through the day. My husband, whom I did not yet know, has exactly the opposite position: he was in lower Manhattan when the shit hit the fan. My memories of that day involved an attack on America; his memories recall an attack on his home. Where he lived; where he worked. Our experiences couldn't have been more polarized.

Which is not to say that we who were not present in New York that day do not deserve to grieve for the families of the victims. We totally have that right. God knows I cried enough that first week over missing persons posters, dust-covered images, and tired rescue dogs with burnt paws. I even made those red, white and blue ribbons cause I didn't know what the hell else to do. We had every right to mourn.

But I think it's time to stop ripping open this wound at every opportunity. I realize that yes, a 5-year anniversary is a milestone that marks a lot of things and calls for reflection and remembrance. And people have every right to respect a somber date and pay tribute in ways that they see fit. But yesterday in New York City, most people weren't pausing their lives to mourn afresh and lament over our unsafe, terrorist-rich world. They were shopping and working and taking pictures with the Naked Cowboy in Times Square. I saw them. Everyone knew it was 9.11, no one was hiding that fact. But instead of bloody broken limbs, September 11th has become a bright red scar. It can't be ignored and it still aches when it rains. But people wear their scars proudly, and New York City knows it.

My observations as a "new" New Yorker are this: this is not the 9.11 of your coffee table memorial books and stupid George W. Bush speeches. This is a different animal altogether, and now I live in a city where those who were here on that terrible day have such strong ties to each other and to the simple geography of the place that I will never fully comprehend it. But I think that's okay. I have my memories of that day, they have theirs.

In closing I will say this: keep your wits about you. Do not be swayed and emotionally manipulated by the inevitable evocations of 9.11 bravery paraded through upcoming political ads and campaigns. We are smarter than that, and the victims and their families deserve better.