I don't try to get over it.

The news today was filled with images of the memorial ceremonies for the victims of September 11. Isn't it amazing that it has already been three years and yet we still don't, and probably won't ever need to, include the year when we say that date? Everybody knows what it means and everybody feels something different when it is mentioned. Today I feel raw. Perhaps not as raw as I did three years ago, but there is still some semblance of that sick, horrified, and grief-stricken feeling at my core. I don't fight it because I don't want it to go away. I did not lose anyone dear to me in the tragic events that unfolded that day. I didn't have to. My sense of security was taken. A piece of my innocence was taken. I was left feeling shaken and helpless in the aftermath. We all felt something that day. I'm lucky it did not put my life at a standstill, but others were not as fortunate. I cannot imagine the pain that so many people had to endure (and are still enduring to this day). I am not a New Yorker, but anyone who knows me understands how badly I want to be one. Something about this city has always fascinated me. The noise, the fast pace, the buildings, the theatre, the traffic, the diverse people, the languages, the subway, the music, the opportunity, the art...the skyline. This feeling existed before 9/11 but only grew stronger once I saw how this amazing city responded to the attempt to break its spirit. Now the New York City skyline will never be the same. Its people will never be the same. This country will never be the same. The world will never be the same. I will never be the same.


I was robbed of my chance to see the New York City skyline with its Twin Towers. I am angry about that. However, I also realize that my selfish feeling of loss could never begin to compare to the loss that all the people of New York City continue to feel to this day. I was fortunate enough to travel there on May 19, 2002, just 8 months after the terrorist attacks. One of my main priorities was to visit Ground Zero. When I was able to do so, it was a very emotional experience. The viewing platform and walkway were made of plywood. My mother, myself, and all the others who came to pay their respects had to ascend the plywood walkway to get to the platform. As we approached the walkway, it looked like plain wood. It wasn't stained or painted. I would not have guessed that there was anything remarkable about it. However, as I stepped onto it I realized that virtually every inch of the wood was covered with messages. For me, it was the first true evidence that something significant happened at this place. But somehow it was still hard to grasp the magnitude of it. With every inch of different handwriting, different colored words, different size, and different purpose my faith in people was slowly restored. This stretch of plywood, nails, and ink restored my belief that people really do look out for one another, without even needing to have a personal relationship. We all shared in some part of this tragedy and those who were the most affected by it needed to know that there was support for them. Whether that support presented itself in the form of donations, service, or kind words, it was and will continue to be offered to those who need it. For whatever reason, that made me feel connected to the people I encountered that day. We were eventually shuffled onto the platform and given a few minutes to survey the site. It was an experience that is beyond words. I felt my heart sink as I looked over the railing and saw the massive hole in the ground where the Towers once stood. The realization overtook me that this was a place where many innocent people lost their lives as they attempted to follow their daily routines. I looked up to the sky and tried to imagine the Towers standing there. All I could imagine was the sound of what unfolded that day, the images replayed over and over again by the media in its aftermath, the coverage of the rescue, recovery, and memorials that followed. I took pictures of the site. There wasn't much to see, but I wanted to remember it. The clean-up efforts were almost complete by then. In fact, the final beam was removed in a ceremony on May 30, 2002, just four days after we left. One of the most haunting images I continue to see is one of children sitting in their parent's lap as the funerals are held for their other parent. Even as an adult, I cannot imagine losing one of my parents. How could you possibly explain to a child that their mother or father, or even an aunt or uncle, grandmother or grandfather, sister, brother, or cousin was killed when a plane flew into their building as they tried to work or when the plane they were on was flown into a building? I cannot imagine how these children are coping after seeing the disturbing images replayed on television continuously. I found a book of children's artwork from September 11. The images that most of them drew were very troubling. Even at very young ages, some of these children are clearly scarred by what they've experienced. The picture below was drawn by an 8-year-old girl. It is one of the least chaotic of the pictures I found. But she clearly understands that there was a large loss of life that day. How can we expect any child to cope with that?


My focus tends to be on the World Trade Center because I had a connection with New York City that I did not have with Washington D.C. or Shanksville, Pennsylvania. I haven't failed to recognize the losses at the Pentagon or the heroic efforts of the passengers on United Flight 93. Perhaps it's easier to feel more outrage toward what happened in New York City because of the enourmous amount of destruction and loss of life that took place. One of the most eye-opening facts I've read indicated that over 65,000 personal items were found during the recovery at Ground Zero. Of those, there were 144 rings. When I read that, I immediately imagined having a spouse who was killed on 9/11 and not having anything tangible left of that person returned to me but a ring...perhaps a wedding ring. That is an awful reality for some people. I've had those around me ask me why I spend so much time thinking about and reviewing the events that took place on September 11. The truth is that I inundate all my senses with the memories of 9/11 to remind myself of the pain I shared with the rest of the country that day. I watch the video. I look at the pictures. I listen to the sounds. I remember what the steel pillar of the World Trade Center feels like. I only got to experience that feeling at a museum exhibit after the World Trade Center was gone. When I experience all of these things I allow the grief to overcome me again, if only for a moment. I don't fight it. I don't try to get over it. After all, it's unfair to allow my mind and body to forget that horrific day when my heart and soul do not have that privilege.
"Grief drives men into habits of serious reflection, sharpens the understanding and softens the heart." John Adams, 1816

I want to be a rock star!

www.evanescence.com
There are many days that I want to be Amy Lee. If you have not heard this voice yet, you've been locked in a closet somewhere screaming to get away from your own feces. I've never heard such a dramatic, rich, haunting, powerful, and intense voice in all my years surrounded by music. If I had a voice like hers, I would never stop singing. I can just imagine it. I would be one of the most obnoxious rock stars ever. You couldn't get me enough appearances on Jay Leno, David Letterman, The Early Show, MTV, VH1, you name it...I'd be one of the most over-exposed people out there, but I'd still be loving every moment of hearing my own voice. I already love to sing...but, unfortunately, when I'm seriously belting out a tune I sound kinda like a car that needs new brakes, has a flat tire, and needs engine work. You know, the kind that squeals as you accelerate when the air conditioner is on so you have to turn the thing off even though it's the middle of summer. Yeah, I owned one of those so I can laugh about it. Anyway, I'm veering off the subject. Even if I didn't want to be a rock star, I'd want a voice like Amy's. I could just hum to myself all day and be happy. Music is so incredibly important in my life. It's one of those powerful forces that can set the tone for your day, convey an important message, or tell the story of your life in just over 3 minutes. I think every type of music is worth making. I may not be as drawn to country as I am to rock, or to rap as much as I am to Broadway musicals but every genre of music being produced speaks to at least one person on some level...even if that one person is the one who happens to be making the music. Music touches lives. Too many people overlook the value and importance of music. It's impact is not taken seriously until some kids decide to shoot up their school and the community wants to blame it on the fact that they listened to Marilyn Manson. Where's the story about the abused child who draws strength and inspiration from Martina McBride's Concrete Angel? The media would rather focus on the East Coast vs. West Coast rap war instead of highlighting the work TLC members Rozonda Thomas and Tionne Watkins are doing to educate the community about HIV and AIDS. It gets exhausting to see that Britney Spears' chewed-up-and-spit-out gum is making thousands of dollars on eBay when there are agencies having to close their doors because there are not enough financial resources available to them. When will we finally be over Britney Spears? It's my personal opinion that the only true entertainment value she has left is as a tabloid headliner. Here's an Amy Lee quote that I would like to take out of whatever context in which it was first delivered and apply it as part of my disgust for Britney Spears:
"Every time a cool rock chick or actress seems to respect themselves as a strong woman, I'm like, 'Yeah!' And I love them, and they're my girls. And then they start to go downhill and people aren't paying attention anymore. So they start stripping their clothes off, because that's all they have left. I swear to everything I've ever known, I will never do that!"
That statement is just another reason why Amy Lee has serious amounts of respect, support, and admiration from me. This chick is totally real. She is passionate about her artistry. She's seriously talented and freaking gorgeous. On top of all that, she has one ginormous heart. She's said that if she wasn't a total rock star, she'd be doing something to help people. Too bad I'm just the opposite of that. I would totally be a rock star if I wasn't so busy helping people! =) I love that she doesn't write peppy, mainstream, pop stuff. Don't get me wrong, there's a definite time and a place for pop music...including Britney Spears' "I'm A Slave 4U". But there are also times when you just need to be sad or angry so that you can work your way out of whatever you're dealing with. Amy has a way with her lyrics that can seriously take you to the depths of those dark emotions and bring you back up to the surface again. It's not always about pushing aside your feelings and putting on your happy face for people. Like she says, "If all we ever sang about was how happy we are, we would be lying to ourselves. People try to escape their problems by getting drunk, partying and dancing them away. What really heals me is to sit down and think, face the facts, then you can get over it and be happy." I seriously doubt that this will be the last time I write about music. It's such an incredible source of emotion and insight in my life that I don't dare minimize its importance. Amy Lee is just one of the many talented artists that helps me realize that importance.
"Music is edifying, for from time to time it sets the soul in operation." John Cage, 1961

Time flies...

I started this process wanting a journal for myself. I knew I needed a place to put my thoughts. My choice to share it was one that took time to convince myself I was doing it for the right reasons. The funny thing is that this journal has become something that others rely on to stay connected with me. I have no problem with this. I step back and look at it to find that it kept the same purpose for me, but is having a much wider effect on others than I expected. I have to laugh each time I get an email from someone asking me to add a new entry because they want to know what is going on in my life and they simply can't obtain that information by reading the same posts again and again. This has happened more than a few times over the two months since I last wrote. I cannot believe it has been that long. Much has happened, which is probably the reason I haven't been able to keep up. Does time really fly when you are having fun? Or is it just that we are getting older and there are not enough hours in the day to get everything accomplished? I'm gonna have to go with choice number two. It's frightening to think that life keeps me so busy that I cannot find the time or energy to tend to something that is so important for my sanity and well-being. So, right now when I should be getting ready for bed, I've chosen to take some time and reflect on what has been going on the past two months.
First, and possibly most importantly, I finished therapy...TWICE. This experience helped me realize how much the state needs to work on resource availability...not just for clients, but for employees. I'm not saying that's all I got out of therapy...it was just a glaring revelation throughout the process. One of my coworkers (who is also a friend) entered therapy the same week I did. She came to me after her second session and told me her next session would be her last. This caused a lot of confusion because we were seeing the same person. I wondered if the therapist just didn't want to deal with her because she has some issues that might be unfamiliar to the therapist. I felt bad for her because I had no indication that I'd be cut off so soon and thought she was possibly being treated unfairly. I expected at least five sessions. When I went in for my third session, I had nothing on my mind except the issues we were dealing with that day. The session was a really good one but seemed to end quickly because I got so much accomplished. Time flies until you hit a brick wall. As my therapist was getting ready to walk me out, she said, "Well, this was your last session. How do you feel?" I just sat there and looked at her with what I can only imagine was a dumbfounded stare. I told her I thought there would be at least five sessions. She apologized and told me that the state now only approves three sessions for its employees and she thought I was aware of that before I started. You've got to be kidding me, I thought to myself. Could anyone in their right mind expect a person to accomplish anything in just three sessions? What ever happened to closure? Every day we are approving our clients for thousands of dollars worth of therapy. Some never attend. Some attend only a few times. The rest attend every session without putting any effort into it and, in return, get nothing out of it. How can we be expected to help these people when we have issues of our own to deal with and we can only get three sessions of therapy? I made up my mind to call my provider and fight this. After telling my life story to this person who couldn't have cared less, I was able to get approved for three more sessions. However, the representative I spoke with acted like this was a huge burden and some miraculous exception that was being made for me. I wonder if she understood that I was the one making an exception by taking on the burden of squeezing everything I wanted to work on into only three more sessions. I'm sure making a realization like that isn't part of her job description...kinda like giving up and settling for the bare minimum isn't part of my personality description. I attended my final three sessions and was able to get everything I needed. I came out of therapy feeling like a stronger version of myself. I think my most incredible accomplishment is realizing that I'm a wonderful person who deserves nothing but the best, because that is what I give of myself to others. I've put myself in too many situations over the past few years that I didn't deserve just because I thought I was "too nice" to ask for a change. I've learned to ask myself the question: How nice is too nice? I've learned to think of my own needs before always jumping in to make sure others are taken care of. That doesn't mean I'll stop caring for others. It just means I'll be strong enough to do so because my needs will already be met. Yes, I'm wonderful. Yes, I can say it. No, it's not arrogance...it is confidence and a positive self-image. I got a hundred other things out of therapy, but I think that is such an important one to recognize.
Having said that, I must now get myself to bed. I'm tired, I don't feel good, and I need to get some sleep. My other adventures are best left for another day when I have the energy to tell them. I hope time doesn't fly so quickly between now and then.
"Time moves slowly, but passes quickly." Alice Walker, 1982