Friends Shut Out on 9/11

Across from Zuccotti Park

Yesterday was the 13th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. I've attended the observances in New York twice: the 9th and 10th anniversaries. This year, I attended again. And my, how things have changed.

On the two previous occasions I was here on 9/11, there were accommodations for the general public (i.e., anyone not a family member): loudspeakers on Broadway and around the site so the crowds could hear the prayers and names read. On the 10th anniversary, Jumbotrons were set up so we could watch, as well. This year...not so much.

As is my habit, I got down the lower Manhattan early, so I could scope out what was going on. I had to keep reminding myself that I couldn't compare it to 2011 because the 10th anniversary (which included the opening of the Memorial) was a very big deal. Still, as I walked around the entire perimeter of Ground Zero, I found myself increasingly irritated.

There was nothing.

As usual, the immediate area of the Memorial and Museum was blocked off to the general public. There were no loudspeakers, no crowd-control barriers. Zuccotti Park was nearly empty. People poured out of the PATH station and hurried to their jobs. Others wandered around, trying to catch a glimpse through the construction fences.

I walked over to Broadway and then City Hall Park, expecting to see groups there, maybe even the Westboro Baptist Church.

There was nothing.

By the time I made my way over to West St., I was really irritated. A reporter heard me express my frustration to a 9/11 Memorial employee and asked me to explain why I was there.

I told her I was there to pay my respects - the same reason everyone comes there. But unlike those previous years, I couldn't even hear the names read. I would've been better off if I'd stayed home and watched it on TV.

I had to content myself with attending the ceremony at the Queen Elizabeth II September 11 Memorial Gardens, near Wall Street. The Consuls General of the UK, New Zealand, Canada, Jamaica and India made brief, eloquent remarks. It's respectful, quiet and welcoming to all.

This was the first year the city did not oversee the observances at the Memorial. Maybe that's why it was so very different. I don't want to believe it was a deliberate decision - shutting out the public.

But for the people who came down there Thursday morning - friends and strangers alike - it added to the sadness in two ways:

First, that we were completely shut out, unable to even hear the names read.

And second, that maybe, just maybe, the world is forgetting about our friends.

"We Don't Grieve Well Alone"

Former NY Giant George Martin and
me at the Information Forum

Yesterday I spent the day at the Voices of September 11 Information Forum at the Marriott Hotel across from the 9/11 Memorial and Museum.

It's an intense day of panel discussions for families, first responders, community members and medical professionals on a wide variety of topics: the treatment of complicated grief, cancer treatment information, updates on the Zadroga fund reauthorization.

As people considered buying my book - and thanks to all of them - every one volunteered information: "I'm a survivor". "My husband lost a lot of friends." "My buddy only got down from 83 to 43 because he was helping people get out." Once again, the willingness of people to tell their stories touched me.

Time doesn't heal all wounds, but time does have a way of giving us permission to remember and honor those we lost.

As Dr. Katherine Shear of Columbia University said in her talk on complicated grief, "We don't grieve well alone."

Community: family, friends, coworkers, therapists, spiritual advisors - help us grieve. And the 9/11 community is a perfect example of a previously unrelated group of people thrown together under horrific circumstances. A community that not only helps each other, but which has expanded their reach to help those in other communities experiencing traumatic events.

I think that's important. Remembering and honoring the past if important, but sharing our experiences can help others in ways we'll never know.

One woman who bought my book said, "I've been thinking about writing my story." "You have to," I told her. "Because you're the only one who can."

It will certainly be therapeutic for her. But it could make the difference for someone else out there, too.

"We don't grieve well alone."

That's the truth.

Tomorrow and Friday, I'll share my observations of being in New York for the 9/11 observances. It's very different 13 years later. 

This Year – and Next - in Friend Grief

Those of you who have been following my blog for a while know that this has been quite a year. I think we all have the tendency to look back in late December, and cringe at the thought of all we’d planned to do but didn’t. I started to do that not long ago, but had to stop myself.

I was looking at only one part of my goals for this year, and in that category I definitely came up short: I self-published three books instead of six. Yeah, I know, I was a bit too optimistic. But what surprised me more than anything was what I accomplished that was not on my list. And I’ll tell you right now, most of these things were not anything I planned on:

1.      Published three books: Friend Grief and Anger: When Your Friend Dies and No One Gives A Damn; Friend Grief and AIDS: Thirty Years of Burying Our Friends; Friend Grief and 9/11: The Forgotten Mourners.

2.      Kept this blog going, as well as my Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Google+, LinkedIn and Goodreads accounts.

3.      Appeared on blogs such as DIY MFA, The Writer’s Guide to E-publishing, Choices, and Memoir Writer’s Journey.

4.      Became a Huffington Post blogger

5.      Did my first blog talk radio show (you can listen here.)

6.      Reviewed a dozen books for BroadwayWorld.com.

7.      Participated in Printers Row Book Fair and Chicago Book Expo, as well as the annual ADEC (Association for Death Education & Counseling) Conference book fair.

 

 

Along the way, I met some remarkable people. Some of them were people I interviewed for my books. Some of them were personal heroes, like the guys who started ACT UP in 1987.

And while a recurrence of symptoms from my concussion four years ago was not in my plans, the forced slow-down (which you probably noticed from my less-frequent posts for the past couple months) has given me a chance to catch my breath.

What can you expect from Friend Grief in 2014? More. A lot more:

1.      Three more books in the Friend Grief series. One is on the military; one on grieving friends you work with. The final book will be stories of people (like me) who made major life changes at the death of a friend.

2.      More posts here and on all the social media sites listed above.

3.      More book reviews here and on BroadwayWorld.com.

4.      More blog posts on Huffington Post.

5.      More terrific guest bloggers here talking about how they faced grieving a friend.

6.      More related content, like free lesson plans/discussion guides for all the Friend Grief books.

7.      A completely redesigned website.

 

I couldn't have done it all without you, my readers. Your comments - on and offline - have kept me going when I was most frustrated. You are in my thoughts every time I sit down at the computer. I appreciate your support more than you know.

And believe it or not, I already know what comes after those next three Friend Grief books.

But you’ll have to stick around to find out what else is coming. J

See you next year!

 

Celebrating on 9/11?

It feels a little odd to be happy on September 11.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think the world should stop spinning today. People should go to work and school, do their grocery shopping, eat birthday cake (the biggest piece, with the rose on it).

But today is the release of the third book in my Friend Grief series, Friend Grief and 9/11: The Forgotten Mourners. As I tweeted to a friend yesterday, I’m not always happy with what I write, but I’m happy with and proud of this book.

It turned out a little differently than I expected. It has turned into an advocacy piece, because of the people I interviewed and learned about.

The 9/11 Memorial – a beautiful place everyone should visit – is off-limits every September 11 to all but families. I would never say they had no right to be there on this day, but what about the survivors? What about firefighters pulled from the rubble? What about the man who climbed down 78 floors on a broken leg, after his coworkers were killed by the impact of the plane hitting the South Tower? Don’t they deserve to read the names of their friends who didn’t make it? Don’t they deserve to be there at all?

Friend Grief and 9/11: The Forgotten Mourners is available today on Kobo, Kindle and Nook. The paperback will be released on September 25. Here’s an excerpt:

 

"I'm Brian and I'm a survivor."

When I read Brian Blanco’s responses to my questionnaire, I imagined him saying these words. I didn’t mean it in a flippant way at all, or to suggest that survivors are members of some odd 12-step group. But he opened my eyes to feelings I hadn’t considered.

While the word “victim” is charged with emotion and even politics, the designation “survivor” is also one that people who escaped the Twin Towers may be reluctant to adopt. It’s a word that denotes some kind of accomplishment, and that’s hard to accept:

It took me a long time to put me and the word survivor together, as a matter of fact, I tell people I worked in the building and I was there that day, but I avoid the word survivor…It took me 5 years to come to terms with that and be able to say, “it just wasn’t my time.”

Survivor guilt pops up in nearly every story you hear from people like Brian. Some admit to struggling with it more than a decade later. Others worked through it quickly. Not all were able to cope. But it’s something they all faced on some level.

Wouldn’t you want to survive something as cataclysmic as the September 11 attacks in New York? Of course you would. But as Malachy Corrigan, director of FDNY’s counseling services unit, told New York magazine on the 10th anniversary, “’Why did I survive?’ is still a big question.”

 

The Next Friend Grief Book

“Families only.”

Those who were killed on September 11, 2001 left behind more than family members. They left thousands of friends who are often forgotten and ignored: co-workers, first responders, neighbors and survivors who struggle to find a way to grieve the friends killed when the World Trade Center towers fell. In Friend Grief and 9/11: The Forgotten Mourners you’ll learn how they adjust to life without their friends and find ways to honor those they lost on a clear, blue Tuesday.

 

It’s been two years since I wrote a post here about what became the basis of this book: the hierarchy of grief in the 9/11 community. But let’s be honest: does the world need another book about 9/11? As it turns out, the answer is yes.

We hear a lot about the families, and rightly so. I would never dismiss their grief. But many people are forgotten, ignored, and even officially excluded from the ceremonies each year: friends.

Some of them were not in New York that day. Some of them are survivors. They escaped the Twin Towers, but lost co-workers and friends. Some suffer ill health – physical and mental – because of that experience. All of them deserve their grief acknowledged and respected.

You’ll hear stories about that day from men and women who worked for companies in the World Trade Center, as well as first responders like former NYPD Deputy Commissioner of Operations (now Chicago Police Superintendent) Garry McCarthy. And you’ll learn that many people have found a new purpose to their lives: changing careers, volunteering, even starting nonprofit organizations like Mychal’s Message and Tails of Courage, in memory of their friends.

Still think you’ve heard it all? Prepare to be surprised.

 

 

 

The e-book versions of Friend Grief and 9/11: The Forgotten Mourners will be released next week (Kobo, Amazon, Nook), on the 12th anniversary of the attacks in New York, Pennsylvania and Washington, DC; paperback will be available the following week.

What’s New on Friend Grief?

I always considered the first day of school to be more like the start of a new year than January 1^st: lots of new beginnings and excitement (not to mention shopping for new clothes and supplies).

There is certainly a lot of excitement here (though not much shopping)! So, I thought I’d bring you up to date on what’s coming up with Friend Grief in the next month:

1.      I’ll be a guest on Madeline Sharples’ website tomorrow, August 28, talking about how my writing made me an activist - again.

2.      Through Labor Day, I’ll donate 25% of the price of the paperback and e-book versions of the second book in the Friend Grief series, Friend Grief and AIDS: Thirty Years of Burying Our Friends, to Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS.
 

3.      Next week I’ll reveal the cover and give you an excerpt from the next book in the series, Friend Grief and 9/11: The Forgotten Mourners, which comes out September 11.

 

4.      I’ll be a guest on Audrey Pellicano’s blog talk radio show, GriefTalk, on September 10, talking about my books.

5.      On September 26, I’ll be a guest on Kathleen Pooler’s Memoir Writer’s Journey, talking about…well, you’ll just have to check it out.

 

6.      A report on our next Death Café in the Chicago area.

7.      Information on the fourth book in the series, Friend Grief and Community: Band of Friends, about the military.

 

8.      Book signings and Goodreads giveaways.

 

9.      And that’s just September!

So check back often, for all this and more, as I share stories about people who have gone through the same experience you have – grieving the death of a friend. You’re going to meet some terrific people who mourned and struggled and laughed, and ultimately found a way to carry the memory of their friends with them every day.

As Doctor Who would say, “Allons-y!”

 

What Could Be Worse Than A Friend’s Death?

Surviving.

Of course we survive. We wouldn’t be here to grieve our friends if we weren’t alive. Sometimes the depth of that grief takes us by surprise, which is one of the reasons why I started this blog and my books.

But when I started writing about grieving the death of a friend, I didn’t expect to find that survivor guilt plays such a huge role in the lives of many people.

While researching the second book in my series, Friend Grief and AIDS: Thirty Years of Burying Our Friends, I learned that one of the biggest issues for long-time HIV+ men is survivor guilt. Like me, they lost a lot of friends: dozens, even hundreds. But because of luck or timing or a miracle, they’re still here today, some of them HIV+ since the 80s. A friend of mine has lost two partners, but he’s still alive and well. Only now are studies being conducted to assess the long-term effects - both physical and emotional – of being HIV+ for decades.

In my next book, Friend Grief and 9/11: The Forgotten Mourners, survivor guilt shows up not only in those who escaped the towers that day, but friends who were hundreds of miles away, on the phone, begging their friends to run up to the roof, or find a way out through the flames. Dozens of first responders and volunteers committed suicide in the first few years following 9/11; no one can give an accurate count.

And I learned very quickly, in preparing for the fourth book, Friend Grief and Community: Band of Friends, that survivor guilt is a contributing factor to the alarming rise in suicides within the military community (including veterans). It is rightly being called an epidemic, when more active duty military commit suicide than die in combat.

In all those cases – and in more mundane ones every day – people struggle to understand why their friend is gone and they’re still here. They are embarrassed, confused and likely to shut out even the most well-meaning family, friends and counselors. They seek the forgiveness they cannot give themselves, for the crime of being alive. Even those who have earned the Medal of Honor speak mostly of the buddies they could not save.

Losing a friend is hard enough, no matter the circumstances. To feel a crushing despair that can only be eased by committing suicide…that’s a double tragedy.

I’ll share more in the coming weeks about people who grieved the death of a friend. Some of them survived. Some did not. But all will touch you.

 

Friend Grief Wants You

gabrielweinberg.com

I’m currently researching and interviewing people for books in the Friend Grief series. Many of you have stories about grieving a friend, stories that are important – not just to you, but to others.

Your experience can help other people who are struggling with their own grief, often in private because those around them don’t understand.

I’m looking for people in the following situations:

           
            You’re active duty military or a veteran and a comrade died.

            You’re a first responder and one of your co-workers died.

You live in a religious community (convent, monastery, etc.) and one of your members died.

A friend of yours died on 9/11 (you don’t have to be a co-worker or survivor of the attacks).

            A friend you worked with (recent or in the past) died.

You did something very specific in your friend’s memory: started a nonprofit, made a donation, carried on their work or made changes in your own life.

You were part of a group of friends that either strengthened or fell apart after the death of one of them.

            You sought counseling after a friend died. Did you find appropriate counseling or not?

If you fit any of these descriptions, I’d love to hear from you. I can email you some questions to answer, or we can talk/chat online. You can write it down yourself in your own way.

All responses will be considered for inclusion in my books, but you are always allowed to respond anonymously.

The first book in the Friend Grief series, Friend Grief and Anger: When Your Friend Dies and No One Gives A Damn, will be out in all ebook formats shortly; print version later this month. The second book, Friend Grief and AIDS: Thirty Years of Burying Our Friends, will be published next month. Watch the “Books” page for purchasing information as well as upcoming book signings.

And thank you in advance to anyone willing to share their stories with me.

 

Friend Grief and Survivor Guilt

realwarriors.net

It’s a situation no one wants to find themselves in, but if you are a first responder or in the military, it’s likely. For some unfortunate people who are not in those professions, it can be even more devastating.

In David Halberstam’s book The Firehouse, he recounts the story of his neighborhood firehouse, near Lincoln Center on New York’s upper west side. On September 11, 2001, thirteen firefighters raced to the scene of the World Trade Center attack. One returned. The only reason he survived is that a photographer saw his arm sticking out of the rubble at Ground Zero. Not only did he suffer from guilt, but some people hated him for surviving: why him and not one of the others?

Suicide is a growing issue, in the military and among first responders. Grief mixed with survivor guilt is a significant component of PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). Men and women (mostly young) who put their lives on the line every day are used to being in danger. But when a comrade dies in the line of duty, they are often ill-prepared for the grief that hardens into survivor guilt.

You’d think that these are people who will mourn the deaths of their colleagues and move on. Danger and death are part of the job description. They take some comfort in grieving rituals. We see the impressive parades, dress uniforms, bagpipes, black and purple bunting. But those rituals are public, and are over within days.

What we don’t see – and don’t think about – is the guilt they carry, the feeling they can’t shake that they could somehow have prevented their friend’s death. They may even believe they should’ve died instead of their friend.

What a terrible way to live: so terrible that suicide may feel like their best option.

Survivor guilt is not limited to these specific professions. People who survived natural disasters, or terrorist attacks, car accidents or the early days of the AIDS epidemic can also feel crushing guilt for having survived.

“Why am I alive, instead of them?”

Next week we’ll look at some attempts to answer that question.

Another Clear Blue Tuesday

The past two years on September 11, I was in New York for the observances. Mostly it was research, for that chapter in the book I’m writing. Partly it was personal: a high school classmate died in the South Tower.

One of the things that struck me last year was the determination of people from around the world – mostly first responders – to come to New York at their own expense on the anniversary. I spoke to a young police officer from Toronto, who was there for the seventh time, and met firefighters from as far away as Australia. Without exception, they considered it a duty and an honor to be there.

It feels strange not being there. This year my daughter is a freshman in college in New York, and she’s headed down to St. Paul’s Chapel later, where there are observances all day.

There is a hierarchy of grief in the 9/11 community. Families are at the top, and I don’t object to that at all. Their loss is unimaginable. They’re the only ones allowed to attend the Naming Ceremony, or visit the Memorial and Visitor Center on the anniversary.

But there were many survivors who weren’t family members. There are the survivors – first responders, office workers, shop owners, reporters – who were there that day and ran from the cloud of debris that engulfed lower Manhattan.

There are survivors who – by the grace of God – were not there that day. I know three people who were supposed to be at or near the World Trade Center that morning: one overslept, one cancelled their meeting, another went inside and couldn’t find his meeting, so he left.

There are those whose lives and livelihood were directly impacted: people who lived or worked near the Towers, or for companies decimated by the loss of dozens, maybe hundreds of employees.

And there are those of us who watched in horror from hundreds and thousands of miles away, trying for hours to get a call through to our friends in New York, only to hear that “all circuits are busy” sound.

I had several friends in New York at the time, most of them women who were high school classmates. I didn’t call the men I knew; for some reason, I knew they were okay, but I did not feel confident about the women. One by one I talked to them: one was stuck on Staten Island for a couple days, another was afraid to go to her job in a high rise. It was three days later, when one of them called to let me know that Carol was missing. By then, we all knew what “missing” meant.

There are those who have turned 9/11 into a political football, and those who exploit it to sell lottery tickets and souvenirs. There are those who are tired of hearing about it, who prefer to put it away in a safe place and not think about it.

And there are those who used channeled their grief and horror into something positive, like Mychal’s Message, the nonprofit organization established in memory of Fr. Mychal Judge, the FDNY chaplain who was one of the victims.

So I ask you today, as we pause to remember those we lost, to also remember those left behind. We are all survivors today.

 

"Bury His Heart, But Not His Love"

Shannon Stapleton/Reuters/Landov

We'll continue contsidering how people honor the memory of their friend by taking another look at one of the most popular posts on Friend Grief. It's a look back at the eulogy given for Fr. Mychal Judge, FDNY chaplain who died on 9/11. Giving the eulogy was not something his friend planned to do, but he certainly rose to the occasion:


I've never been called upon to give a eulogy for a friend. I wrote the eulogy a hospice chaplain read for my father’s funeral. I’ve made remarks at friends’ memorial services. But I’ve never given a formal eulogy: never stood up in front of a gathering of mourners, script in hand, before a microphone, praying for strength.

The photo here is one of the most iconic images of September 11, 2001. Fr. Mychal Judge was a New York City fire department chaplain. He died ministering at the World Trade Center. His funeral, at St. Francis of Assisi Church on West 31^st Street four days later, was nationally televised.

Franciscans are required to leave instructions “in the event of” their death, and on the morning following the attacks, Fr. Michael Duffy was told that Fr. Judge had left instructions for him to give the eulogy.

I was shaken and shocked … for one thing, as you know from this gathering, Mychal Judge knew thousands of people. He knew, he seemed to know everybody in the world. And if he didn’t then, they know him now, I’m sure. Certainly he had friends that were more intellectual than I, certainly more holy than I, people more well-known. And so I sat with that thought, why me … and I came down to the conclusion that I was simply and solely his friend … and I’m honored to be called that.

I always tell my volunteers in Philadelphia that through life, you’re lucky if you have four or five people whom you can truly call a friend. And you can share any thought you have, enjoy their company, be parted and separated, come back together again and pick up right where you left off. They’ll forgive your faults and affirm your virtues. Mychal Judge was one of those people for me. And I believe and hope I was for him …

How do you sum up a life and a friendship? Fr. Duffy’s eulogy is as good as they get: personal, joyful, mournful. Even if you never met Fr. Judge, by the end of the homily you’ll feel that he was your friend, too.

Thanks to Fr. Duffy for teaching us all about his friend.

For more information on Fr. Mychal Judge, his life and his legacy:

www.mychalsmessage.org

For the entire transcript of Fr. Duffy’s homily:

http://www.hnp.org/publications/articles_view.cfm?id=16&yr=2001

Survivor Guilt

St. Paul's Chapel near Ground Zero

Perhaps because I’m in New York right now, or because I’m re-visiting the 9/11 Memorial this evening, I had survivor guilt on my mind.

This is a post from last year that looks at how guilt – and anger – complicate grief for your friend.

In keeping with what turned out to be a week of considering anger’s role in grief, I thought I’d turn to one of the triggers for anger: survivor guilt.

The research for my book has provided a glimpse into some typically closed societies, among them military and firefighters. Both are groups charged with keeping us safe, both are groups whose jobs are so dangerous they know every day is potentially their last.

The people they work with - men and women - are a tight-knit group. They consider themselves a family; Band of Brothers was not an accidental title.

Because of the nature of their close living conditions, and the hazards of their work, they must have complete trust in each other. They hold our lives - and the lives of those who work with them - literally in their hands.

Their grief is complicated by these unique situations. Their workplace is their home, after all, sleeping and eating together as well as fighting fires or the enemy. They spend most of their time with their co-workers.

In David Halberstam’s excellent book, Firehouse, about his neighborhood Upper West Side firehouse after 9/11, he recounts the difficulties faced by the one firefighter who survived that day. Twelve answered the call; one came back. He only survived because a photographer on the pile saw him sticking out of the rubble and got him to medical assistance. He was lucky.

But there were those who did not consider him lucky: they resented his survival. Why him? Why was he the only one to survive? He became the worst kind of celebrity, getting attention for something that he was embarrassed about: surviving.

Sgt. Dakota Meyer, whose story was told here last week, disobeyed orders to help his men, rescuing 36 American and Afghan soldiers. But that superhuman accomplishment is tarnished by his own survivor guilt. While he was able to help retrieve the bodies of four comrades (a fifth died later of wounds), he was haunted by the fact that they didn’t make it.

Yes, surviving is its own reward, and cause for celebration. But as story after story after story of heroism in the military, in the first responder community, even in daily life has proven, sometimes it just doesn’t make sense who lives and who dies. There is a randomness that doesn’t satisfy our need for clean, logical explanations.

“I just talked to her a week ago.”

I’ve always found it a little amusing when people say things like this after a friend has died. What? They must be alive because they talked to you recently? We grasp for straws, for explanations - no matter how bizarre - to help us understand.

One of my earliest blog posts was about the episode of Family Ties where Alex suffers from acute survivor guilt when his best friend is killed in a car accident. “I should’ve been there,” he cried, as if he had the power to prevent the accident and save his friend’s life.

There’s an episode of Doctor Who where we see that his companion, Donna, could’ve missed meeting him altogether. She is sitting in her car at an intersection, arguing with her mother about whether to make a left turn or a right turn.

Sometimes it’s as simple as that - your choice of direction at an intersection dictates the rest of your life.

Stories of 9/11 are full of these kinds of random, unconscious decisions that literally meant the difference between dying with your co-workers on the 91st floor and surviving: stopping for a shoeshine, walking your child to the first day of kindergarten, changing shifts with another firefighter. And every one of those stories includes a variation on “I don’t know why I’m here and they’re not.”

I don’t think there’s any hard and fast rule for coming to terms with survivor guilt. Some people deal with it by making sure that their friend is always remembered: charitable contributions, family support, or maybe finishing a project they started. Some people use their friend’s death - and their own survival - as a catalyst for making sweeping changes in their own lives. Every one of them struggles with the unanswerable question, “why?”

For them - and for us all - surviving isn’t enough. We need acceptable answers. But we have to accept that we probably won’t get them, at least not in this lifetime.

We also need to remember that just surviving isn’t enough.

We need to live each day to its fullest, and be grateful for having known that friend.

Reminders of Your Friends

It's just stuff, right?

Since I wrote this post last year, I've paid a little more attention to "stuff": this despite the fact that I'm at an age where I'd dearly love to get rid of a lot of "stuff".

But these are things that remind me of friends who have died. Most often, they're photos, but sometimes they're gifts I received from them, or souvenirs from a night on the town. One is a note she wrote in high school. I can't help but think of them when I see and touch those things.

Maybe this will remind you of something you have that reminds you of your friend:

This is a picture of a scarf that belonged to my friend, Delle. She had quite a collection of scarves. Tall and vivacious, she wore them with style, unlike those of us who struggle tying them.

At the gathering after her funeral mass, those attending received “goodie bags”: a blue paper bag, with her photo on the side, with one of her scarves inside. I remember making my selection very carefully, and choosing this one. I wanted something of her, some piece of her. Its bright blues and reds and purples were familiar to me, and comforting. When I wear it, I say I’m “taking Delle with me.”

Delle has traveled with me to Missouri and New York, California and Kentucky. She has given me the courage to pitch my book, and attended the theatre. She’s always with me, but when I wear her scarf – even now after almost 5 years – I feel closer to her.

The World Trade Center Tribute Center has a new exhibit called “Objects Speak”, a small but powerful example of the meaning of things.

Objects from the site are preserved in Plexiglass cases. Their owners – or someone related to the original owners – comment on their meaning when first found, and their meaning nearly 10 years after the attacks. They illustrate how the significance of an object can evolve over time. As one participant in the exhibit stated:

“I felt these things are not a possession – they are a treasured memory.” (Christina Cerciello, Elegant Affairs)

Perhaps you have a keepsake from your friend – a photo, a note passed in history class, a ticket stub from a concert. At the time, it may not have had great meaning. But today – perhaps years after they died – that little scrap of paper may mean the world to you.

Writing about Grief Gets to You, Too

The "Survivor Tree"
at Ground Zero

I’ve had interesting reactions when I tell people I’m writing about the experience of grieving the death of a friend.

“Oh…that’s depressing…”

I insist they’re – mostly – wrong, and truly, I believe it.

But there are times when you want to rush the grieving process along, when it wears on you, when it seems as though it will never end.

I’ve found the same thing goes for reading and writing about it. You think it won’t affect you. But it does.

One of the hardest – though not the hardest – topic I’ve written about here and in my book is 9/11. It’s not because I knew someone who died that day; I was mistaken in thinking that would be the case.

It’s a difficult topic for most people to think or talk about: the enormity, the shock, the ongoing ramifications.

My second research trip to New York was for the 9^th anniversary of 9/11. I went to various observances, including the Naming Ceremony. I visited the 9/11 Visitors Center, as well as the NYPD and FDNY museums. I read two books on that trip, written by survivors. I figured it would be emotional, so I built in a day to do nothing 9/11-related.

I spent a good part of that rainy, raw Sunday at the Cloisters. I knew before I walked into Ft. Tryon Park that I desperately needed its serenity. The panic attack that started as I approached the entrance gradually subsided, until I left the grounds hours later, calmer and almost relaxed.

But it wasn’t enough. The following evening I went out for drinks with a dear friend, a sweet, gentle man. I found myself trying to pick a fight with him – for absolutely no reason. The fact that he was also stressed (about other things) didn’t help. I had no reason to be angry with him – in fact, I wasn’t angry with him. But I realized when I got back to my hotel that the affects of all the 9/11 research had gotten to me. In fact, I could still feel them physically a week later.

The following year, I was back again. This time, lesson learned. I spread things out over a longer period of time. I said no to attending some observances. I gave myself plenty of downtime. I collected the newspapers, with commemorative sections, but put them away to read later.

I watched virtually no television coverage. I struck up more conversations with strangers – cops from Toronto and England, bartenders, waitresses. I partied late at Fashion Night with a woman I’d grown up with. And I took one complete day off – the 12^th – to decompress after 4 straight days of activities.

On the 13^th, the second day it was open, the friend I’d picked on the year before accompanied me to the new 9/11 Memorial. I went to all the other observances alone, but for this one I knew I needed a friend. It was emotional for both of us to visit it – me, for seeing my classmate’s name, him, for having lived through the attack. The tears were a relief. We went out for drinks afterwards.

We sat with our same vodkas at the same table at the same bar we’d visited a year before. This time the conversation was not the same. This time we were relaxed. We talked about our kids and getting older, we talked about baseball and theatre. We laughed. We hugged.

The airplane analogy worked: if the cabin loses pressure, you’re instructed to put your own oxygen mask on first before you try to help anyone else.

That’s a very tough thing to remember if you’re grieving or just writing about grieving. It’s next to impossible if you’re a caregiver.

But it’s worth remembering today: you can’t help anyone else if you don’t take care of yourself.

Wherever you are in the grieving process, take a moment today to step back. Turn off the computer or the TV. Turn off the lights and sit in darkness. Breathe. Find a way to recharge your batteries.

Remember something incredibly stupid you did with your friend. Let yourself laugh, even if you wind up crying.

Take care of yourself.