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.

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.”

 

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.

 

The Buddhists and the Brits Commemorate 9/11

Bagpipers and Pipe & Drum Corps
at the British Gardens

When most people think of 9/11 observances, they think first of New York, then Washington, then Pennsylvania. They think in terms of Americans remembering the loss of American lives. They think in terms of solemn, patriotic ceremonies, naming the names of those who died; perhaps displaying those names on programs or engraving them in stone. They wave American flags and banners.

And while it’s true that most of those who died that day were American citizens, the victims represented 93 countries.

The British, to no one’s surprise, conduct a formal ceremony in a tiny slip of park in the middle of Wall Street, called the British Garden (now renamed the Queen Elizabeth 2 Commemorative Garden).

This year, police officers from Great Britain, Canada and Australia turned out after showing their respects at Ground Zero. They marched and stood at attention while the West Yorkshire Pipe and Drum Band performed, followed by the Gardens’ official bagpipers, the Allied Forces Foundation. A combined choir from Scotland sang, too, after formal speeches from Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper, and the Consuls General of Australia and Great Britain.

“No more dates on the calendar should become symbols of the wounding of a nation,” Harper said.

There were no religious references, no naming of victims’ names. The Garden’s leaders announced that it would now commemorate the victims of not only Great Britain, but Canada and Australia as well. It was proper, sincere, and secular. Those who attended, some from half a world away, came at their own expense, and were proud to do so.

That night, Pier 40 at the end of Houston Street was turned over for a Buddhist floating lanterns ceremony.

Lanterns floating in the Harbor

People gather in early evening to write messages, memories and prayers on large pieces of paper, which are then folded around candles. Each lantern is then fixed to a kind of tray, tied in a line with five more, to form a chain of soft lights. Kayakers then pull these chains out into the Hudson River, where they are released into the night.

There are a few, very brief speeches that serve mainly to welcome people and explain the significance of not only the lanterns, but the music and chanting. Though referred to as a Buddhist ceremony, it was in fact interdenominational, with Jewish, Hindu, Christian, Islamic and Afro-Caribbean ministries represented.

The music, played mostly on reed instruments and the occasional drum or gong, is quiet and slow.

Unlike the mostly older crowd at the British Gardens, the attendees at the floating lantern ceremony were mostly under the age of 40, and considerably more culturally diverse. And also unlike the other crowd, this one was made up mostly of residents of New York.

The purpose of the event is to look at 9/11 as a teaching moment: how can we use that pain to make the world a better place? How can we move past the horror to become better people, better citizens? “Let us covenant now to take care of each other,” was Rev. Alfonso Wyatt’s parting prayer.

Both ceremonies took place in New York on 9/11, but were as different from each other as they were from the observances at Ground Zero.

There are many ways to look at what happened 10 years ago: the details, the meaning, and the implications for the future.

Every group of people - whether brought together by geography or faith - finds its own way when considering an event with such historic significance.

They struggle to determine what’s most important to them: rebuilding the site? Honoring the victims and their survivors? Pledging to improve their lives and the lives of those around them?

There are as many ways of grieving as there are people. Their culture, their nationality, their beliefs all have an impact on that.

The very different approaches of the British and the Buddhists prove that there is no wrong way to grieve. But there is one that is right for you.

Tomorrow: The New 9/11 Memorial

Ground Zero - 10 Years Later

British & Canadian police officers
at Ground Zero

“Everything’s different this year.”

I wish I had a dollar for every time I said or thought those words, or heard them from someone else yesterday. The anniversary brought many changes to the ceremonies, restrictions and mood.

I was at the corner of Liberty & Trinity for the naming ceremony. I didn’t stay for the whole thing; I was there to listen for my classmate’s name. Last year, I realized it had always been mispronounced, and made it my goal for the 10^th anniversary to make sure that was corrected.

When I heard her name - pronounced correctly - I started to laugh. But instead a sob caught in my throat. It was all I could do to control myself, although it would not have been unusual to cry at Ground Zero. I was a little afraid that if I started crying, I might not be able to stop.

That was how I felt 10 years ago. I remember crying at a mass at my daughter’s school, and being unable to stop for what felt like a long time. It probably wasn’t, but control freak that I am, it wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

With a couple of notable exceptions, the people I encountered yesterday - on the streets of Manhattan, at Ground Zero, the British Gardens and the Buddhist floating lanterns ceremony – were friendly, helpful, and kind. We were kind to each other; there’s just no other word for it. Last week, everyone seemed to be on edge; waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sunday morning, it was as if everything let out the breath they’d been holding, and relaxed.

The untold story, really, about all the anniversaries, is the willingness of people to come to New York from around the world. Thousands of police officers were at Ground Zero in their dress uniforms, standing in formation for hours, presenting the colors, showing their respects. They came from around the U.S. and many other countries as well. And I was continually surprised to find that none of them were there for the first time; some had come as often as seven times.

That person was a young Toronto police officer. He said that there were many who questioned why he was making the trip – like everyone else, at their own expense – when “it didn’t have anything to do with us.” He insisted it did, even though a modest number of Canadians died that that. He had to be there, he insisted.

The very personal aspect of 9/11 for me is simply that it brought a group of women - my high school classmates - closer together. Despite having already lost a number of classmates, Carol’s death on that day forced us into action. No longer would we say “we should get together more often”. We just did it, with no more excuses.

So, ten years after that awful day, I am less willing to put things off. I’m less patient with people who make excuses (including myself). I’m more grateful for this fragile life we lead, and more determined to accomplish something in whatever time I have left.

If 9/11 taught us anything, it’s that time is our most precious commodity. No one knows how much they have. But everyone can make the most of it, if they choose.

Coming next:

9/13 – The Buddhists and the Brits: how other cultures and faiths commemorate 9/11

9/14 – The New 9/11 Memorial

FROM ONE TO ELEVEN: The Essence of Grief by Damon DiMarco

Bring them back, God, please bring them back. This is the essence of grief.

Not the secret we shared with a lover, divulged, or the song we composed, which the critics destroyed, or long holes torn in the silk of our souls. It’s the truth that you can’t bring them back.

I will never forget there are men who fight fires. Or faces that smiled in the hallways, the stairs. Or clerks who vowed to remain at their desks until even their bosses get out.

And I want you to bring them back now, God. I want you to please bring them back.

Here are some items we found. Look here. This shoe. This pen. This piece of debris. We cherish these heirlooms, we’ll trade them at once if only you bring them back.

One for our daughters and one for our sons. Our fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters. What is the reason you can’t bring them back?

I keep thinking it could have been any of us. It could have been any of us, and it was, and thank you for sparing me. Thank you for life. But life means less when you treat it like this, so why don’t you bring them back?

They say that no parent should bury a child, but children should get to remember their parents. You made that order, then broke it. I’m angry. Criticize my faith, but I’m pissed. They were innocent people going to work. Meetings and spreadsheets and eyes out the window, daydreaming trips. Anniversaries. Parties. Retirement. Then something happened.

Ten years ago, and who would believe it? It happened to you and it happened to me and something bright fell out of the sky and some ran up while many ran down and we lost them, and maybe we lost ourselves, I don’t know.

I just want them back.

Do you watch us rebuild? We want to rebuild. When something good breaks, you don’t throw it away. You fix it. Make it better and stronger. But why should mosaics go missing a stone? Why should the trees without roots bear fruit, while good trunks topple and caretakers, drunk, play cards with a bee and a fox in the shade, and leave us with nothing but stories?

Take my eyes, my hands, my feet – I don’t need feet, I’ve already stumbled. And yet, move forward we must.

And since we must, I will ask you again to please, God. Bring them back.

Damon DiMarco is the author of Tower Stories: An Oral History of 9/11 and My Two Chinas: The Memoir of a Chinese Counterrevolutionary with Baiqiao Tang (featuring a foreword by His Holiness the Dalai Lama). His website is www.damondimarco.com.

The Arts and 9/11: "110 Stories"

2,753 empty chairs in Bryant Park

Two nights.

Two plays.

Same subject.

But as is typical in any art form, two completely different approaches.

On Friday night I saw Sarah Tuft’s play, 110 Stories, which benefited the New York Says Thank You Foundation. There were some pretty serious problems at the location that delayed the start of the show for over an hour, but there were also some very stark difference between 110 Stories and The Guys, which I saw Thursday night.

Unlike that play, which had only two characters, 110 Stories presents introduces you to 30 people from all walks of life who were at Ground Zero on that day, or involved in the recovery effort. Also a staged reading, the characters were portrayed by a large group of actors, including Samuel L. Jackson, Kathleen Turner, Tony Shalhoub, Jeremy Piven, Stephen Baldwin, Melissa Leo and Ralph Macchio.

Also unlike The Guys, this play recounts some graphic descriptions about the recovery effort, details that had a very noticeable effect on the woman sitting next to me. She was considerably younger, perhaps in middle school when 9/11 happened. She seemed to be hearing this for the first time.

(You see, that’s a problem when you’ve lived through something like 9/11: you assume everyone knows what you know.)

Each character began with some background: their job, how they found out about the attacks, how they responded. Then it went on to what each witnessed, again, sometimes with shocking detail. But that was absolutely necessary to then explain how they coped and how their lives - and health - were changed forever.

Both plays continued the theme that has played out in the media this week about 9/11. The #1 question seems to be, “where were you when the planes hit?”

But the follow-up is always, “what’s your story about 9/11?” That’s a more expansive question, requiring a more thoughtful response. And everyone has one.

The Guys and 110 Stories are both plays, both staged readings of stories. Telling and sharing 9/11 stories is a way to make sense of something that makes no sense. Sometimes there is no answer to “why?” that is reasonable or acceptable.

But still we tell our stories, share our stories, so that others can begin to understand what it was like.

Coming next:

9/11 – Guest post by Damon DiMarco, author of Tower Stories: An Oral History of 9/11

9/12 – Ground Zero, 10 Years Later

9/13 – The Buddhists and the Brits: how other cultures and faiths commemorate 9/11

9/14 – The New 9/11 Memorial

The Arts and 9/11: "The Guys"



From the original production



Last night I attended a performance of Anne Nelson’s beautiful play, The Guys, starring Sigourney Weaver and Tom Wopat, benefitting the FDNY Foundation.

A deceptively simple premise based on the playwright’s personal experience, The Guys tells of a meeting between Joan, an editor, and Nick, an FDNY fire captain. Nick lost 8 men on 9/11, and a week later, needs help writing eulogies for the first four services.

The language is real and funny and gut-wrenching, sometimes all at once. Joan gradually draws out stories of each man, as Nick struggles with his grief for his guys, and survivor guilt (he switched shifts with his best friend).

He rails against the hero status each has acquired, arguing that they were just doing “the greatest job in the world.” He hates that they’re being elevated to sainthood when they were just everyday guys.

But little by little, he shares the humanity in each, the “ordinary” in each man who died doing what he loved.

Joan, removed from the events by her Upper West Side life (her father, watching TV in Oklahoma, knew about the attacks before she did), struggles with her own grief and helplessness in those early days. Like millions of others around the country, she wanted to “do” something, no matter how small. But the recovery effort needed ironworkers, not intellectuals. When she was asked by a friend to help Nick, she jumped at the chance.

In describing the effect of 9/11 on New York, she uses the analogy of a pebble dropped in water. “You’re the rock,” she says, and the ripples are waves of grief. The first one, family you lost; then friends, co-workers, the Starbucks barista who “only” lost two people, the guy you had dinner with months before and thought was nice, and so on.

 I remember hearing about the original production of The Guys just a few months after 9/11, and was intrigued by its simplicity. So when I found out I would have a chance to see this production, I was thrilled.

At the reception afterwards, I had a moment to talk to Anne Nelson. When I complimented her on her play, she credited the production. “Yes, but, it was the words, the words were so beautiful,” I insisted.

There are 75 productions of The Guys around the U.S. this week. Find one.

Coming next:

9/10 – 110 Stories

9/11 – Guest post by Damon DiMarco, author of Tower Stories: An Oral History of 9/11

9/12 – Ground Zero, 10 Years Later

9/13 – The Buddhists and the Brits: how other cultures and faiths commemorate 9/11

9/14 – The New 9/11 Memorial

Tourism and Souvenirs: 9/11-style

9/11 Lottery Balls

This is a picture of my “favorite” 9/11-related offense last year: people dressed as a firefighter and police officer lottery balls. They were on a corner a couple blocks from Ground Zero while the Naming Ceremony was going on, and people were posing for pictures with them.

Any holiday or important date seems to be fair game for exploitation. We see Martin Luther King weekend mattress sales, after all. Ground Zero may be considered hallowed ground, but the event itself is often used in a disrespectful and purely mercenary way.

I’m of two minds here. Many excellent books have been written about the attacks, heroism and recovery efforts: Requiem by Gary Suson, Firehouse by David Halberstam, and of course Tower Stories: An Oral History of 9/11 by Sunday’s guest blogger, Damon DiMarco come to mind. Should their efforts not earn them money? Should they be expected to give away their profits when writing about a tragedy?

Remember the POW bracelets during the Vietnam War? I had one, though I don’t remember what happened to it or the man whose name was engraved on it. I didn’t think it was tacky at all. But last spring, when I saw similar bracelets being sold across the street from Ground Zero with victims’ names on them, I was offended. The money paid for them would benefit the Visitors Center. But I think I felt they crossed a line, and the line was using individual names.

This morning, Ground Zero was bustling with police, security guards, construction workers and tourists. There was an air of expectation, but not quite excitement. I was interviewed by an Argentine journalist as we stood in front of St. Paul’s, and we agreed the air felt tense. In fact, she felt uneasy with what she considered a lack of (obvious) police presence.

There are tours of the area by a number of groups now, as well as commemorative books being hawked on the corner across from St. Paul’s Chapel. The WTC Visitors Center – as well as any bookstore – sells books, posters, key chains, t-shirts, coloring books, and DVD’s. Tourists posed for pictures with the Freedom Tower in the background. They marveled at the construction progress and stared at police.

A New York health club recently ran afoul of public opinion when they offered a special for first responders (active duty only; no retirees). A commemorative booklet of Bible verses was being given out by a Baptist group from Ohio. The souvenir shop across from Ground Zero sells “Never Forget” t-shirts. The New York Times is promoting their commemorative Sunday issue.

So, is Ground Zero a construction site? A tourist destination? A cemetery?  It’s all of these things and more. It will never be just one thing to everyone.

But it would be nice if we could dispense with the tacky souvenirs.

Coming next:

9/9 – The Guys

9/10 – 110 Stories

9/11 – Guest post by Damon DiMarco, author of Tower Stories: An Oral History of 9/11

9/12 – Ground Zero, 10 Years Later

9/13 – The Buddhists and the Brits: how other cultures and faiths commemorate 9/11

9/14 – The New 9/11 Memorial

Friend Grief and the 10th Anniversary of 9/11

And now, as they say, a programming note:

I will be writing from New York City starting September 7^th, on the 10^th anniversary observances of 9/11.

I’m there for two reasons: First, one chapter in my book covers people who lost friends on 9/11; some of those stories also pop up elsewhere in the book. Second, one of my high school classmates died in the South Tower, and I’m going to hear her name read at the Naming Ceremony (hopefully, pronounced correctly this year), and to see her name engraved on the new 9/11 Memorial.

I’ll be looking at the anniversary from a number of different perspectives: how the arts and different faiths are observing it, for example. You can expect me to point out how some are making money off the anniversary, too (my ‘favorite’ last year were the people dressed up like NYPD and FDNY lottery balls).

I also have a terrific guest blogger on September 11, whose website you can check out at Damon DiMarco. He’s written a beautiful prayer that I’m honored to share with all of you.

My blogging schedule is as follows:

9/7 – Preserving Stories

9/8 – Tourism and Souvenirs, 9/11-style

9/9 – The Guys

9/10 – 110 Stories

9/11 – Guest post by Damon DiMarco, author of Tower Stories: An Oral History of 9/11

9/12 – Ground Zero, 10 Years Later

9/13 – The Buddhists and the Brits: how other cultures and faiths commemorate 9/11

9/14 – The New 9/11 Memorial

There will be lots of pictures, as well as links to organizations doing good work supporting first responders and others whose health was impacted, as well as those preserving our memories. Not surprisingly, there have been some 9/11 charities that turned out to be nothing more than scams or blatant sales promotions. Be assured that the professional fundraiser in me has vetted all the nonprofit organizations that (ever) appear on this site.

So, if you are determined to avoid any and all reminders of 9/11, I understand. I’ll see you back here on the 16^th. I’ll be sharing thoughts on friend grief from unlikely sources, like Winnie the Pooh. Otherwise, join me for the next week or so for a look at how we grieve our friends lost on that clear, blue Tuesday ten years ago.

Commemorating 9/11 Isn’t for Everyone

I remember when 9/11 happened. I was glued to the TV, watching everything, read everything, trying to understand what had happened. Others watched nothing, read no articles.

The 10^th anniversary of the September 11 attacks is fast approaching. Television will be saturated with reruns of original programming from that day and new retrospectives. Reports on the building of the new Tower One, and the 9/11 Memorial and Museum have already appeared in newspapers. Books are being re-reprinted, and new ones are coming out in time for the anniversary.

But not everyone wants to remember.

Families, friends, survivors, even those with no connection to the losses of that day may want to ignore the whole thing.

For some, it’s dwelling in the past, on a horrible event.

For some, the politics of the rebuilding have left a sour taste in their mouths.

For some, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are enough of a reminder.

For some, the observances simply remind them of what they lost that day.

Make no mistake: people don’t need these ceremonies to be reminded of what happened, especially if they lost a friend or family member that day. They grieve every day.

But I hope that those of us who are participating in observances around the world will remember that not everyone grieves the same way. Just because they don’t watch the TV specials, or attend special events, or talk about where they were that day, that doesn’t mean they are indifferent.

You don’t have to wave a flag to prove you love your country, and you don’t have to be at Ground Zero to prove you grieve for those who died.

How people react to this isn’t good or bad. Just assume it’s right for them.

Hierarchies of 9/11 Grief

Ground Zero Museum (14th St.)

There is a lot of talk these days about the changes in the observances at Ground Zero this year, for the 10^th anniversary.

It’s a significant anniversary, not just because 10 is a special number, whether it’s a birthday or anniversary. The new 9/11 Memorial, on the footprints of the Twin Towers, opens that day (the underground Museum won’t open for another year).

Because of those things, changes have been made, and it seems no one is happy about them. Although it’s been alleged that they’ve never before been officially invited, survivors and first responders have been told there is no room for them this year. It will be families only along with a larger than usual contingent of politicians.

Personally, I have no problem with Presidents Bush and Obama, along with Mayor Bloomberg and former Mayor Giuliani attending (they’re not giving speeches). Last year Vice President Biden attended the observances, and given the importance this year, I think all four of them should be there. But…

When I attended the 9^th anniversary ceremonies I was really struck by the stark, official hierarchy of grievers, a hierarchy that has existed from the beginning: families first, then first responders, then everyone else (including survivors and those who lived and worked in the area that day).

There is a very small geographic area for those attending: very, very limited. As a non-family member, I was lucky to find a spot to stand across Broadway from Zuccoti Park. The Memorial itself opens that day, but only for family members, and I have no problem with that. It opens to the public the next day, and I’ll be there on the 13^th.

But I can’t help but feel great sympathy for the first responders and survivors. I’m way down the list in this hierarchy. I always knew that. But as if often the case, actions do not match words. “We’ll have a separate ceremony for you at a later date” is not a particularly respectful suggestion.

This is an extreme example of a hierarchy of grieving, of those who have “more reason” to grieve than others. I’m not going to get into that discussion, especially as it relates to 9/11. I wish there was enough room for everyone to be there, right there, in the park and on the street. Enough room for everyone who grieves someone who died that day – not just in New York, but Pennsylvania and Washington, DC.

I hope there can be an amicable resolution to this. Because there are so many people who deserve to share that day with others who grieve as they do.

Dreading Anniversaries – 9/11

With a month to go before the 10^th anniversary of the September 11 attacks, the media is gearing up for what promises to be saturation coverage.

Memorial events – some annual, some special for this year – are being announced in New York, Washington, DC, and Pennsylvania.

Politicians will invoke the attacks and the bravery of first responders, and try to link themselves to the courage shown on that day.

News specials – reruns of documentaries from those early days as well as new programs – are being announced for networks and cable channels.

President Obama has declared September 11 to be a National Day of Service, so communities around the country are not only planning commemorations, but activities to focus on positive action.

I remember after my Dad died, that I was dreading the first anniversary. “The first year is the hardest,” they say. Would I wake up the day after and suddenly feel great? Of course that didn’t happen. Every year on the anniversary, I think about him – not just that day, but the days leading up to it.

So it is now for those affected directly and indirectly by the events of September 11, 2001. Some people I know will mark the day by going to a religious service. Some will watch the specials on TV.  Some have made their peace, and feel no need to fixate on it.

Others would like to avoid it completely: “it’s ten years; get over it,” they say. I don’t think this kind of loss – indeed any kind of grief – is something you just “get over.”

Everyone grieves in their own way. And we’ll see some stark examples of those differences in the weeks to come.

Personally, I’ll be in New York, and I will blog every day from Sept. 9-14. I’ll report on the observances at Ground Zero, and other locations such as the Buddhist lantern ceremony at Pier 40 and the services at the British Gardens. I’ll attend two benefit performances of plays written in those early days after 9/11. And I’ll visit the new World Trade Center Memorial. It will all be from the perspective of grieving for a friend.

But I also plan to volunteer on September 10, a small attempt to give back, as I remember my classmate, Carol Demitz.

So, no matter how you feel about the upcoming anniversary – good, bad, indifferent – perhaps you could take some time that weekend to give back to your community, to your first responders, to the military whose sacrifices keep us safe.

That, after all, is the best way to remember.

Naming Names: The 9/11 Memorial



Northeast Corner of the South Pool





I’m old enough to remember the very heated controversy over Maya Lin’s Vietnam Memorial design: the names of the dead etched in stark, black stone. How depressing! How disrespectful! Now, its “naming” focus is one that is copied the world over, including the new 9/11 Memorial, opening to the public on September 12.

I visited “The Wall” in 1988. The Vietnam War shaped my youth, particularly high school and college. I stopped at the kiosk, got my paper and pencil, made a donation and set off to find the names of the two guys I’d grown up with. It had been 20 years since Ernie Sanazaro died, but it was still surprising to see his name there, so final, so permanent. I had a crush on him at one time, and his death, near my 16^th birthday, was a shock. When I got back home, I wrote to his sister, asking if she’d like the rubbing (I didn’t want to just mail it to her without warning). As it turned out, she was grateful, and I sent it off to her.

Today I reserved my ticket to visit the new 9/11 Memorial this September. I’ll be in New York for all the 10^th anniversary events, to finish that chapter in my book. Last year, although I’d been to Ground Zero before, the memorial events I went to had quite an effect on me. I wound up spending one whole day literally talking to no one except when ordering my meals. I didn’t expect to be so overwhelmed.

This Memorial, too, will include the names of all the victims etched in stone. I already know where to find Carol’s name, so I won’t have to wander around. I’d seen her name years ago, on the posters around the site. But this time, it will be permanent.

I reserved two tickets, one for me and one for someone to go with me. I immediately emailed a friend in New York. If he can’t go, I’ll find someone else because I don’t think I want to go alone. I suspect the emotions this year will run even deeper; “big” anniversaries tend to do that.

Two months from today, the papers and internet and TV will be full of stories about 9/11: reruns of original broadcasts, interviews, surveys, retrospectives, commentaries, observances. When you’re tempted to ignore it, remember those who lost someone that day – family, friend, co-worker.

To learn more about the National September 11 Memorial and Museum, or to make ticket reservations, go to www.911memorial.org.

Flashbacks of 9/11



Photo courtesy Taunton Gazette



The news earlier this month about the death of Osama bin Laden wasn’t entirely good news.

I found that every person I talked to about this – without exception – shared some memory of that day almost 10 years ago.

Sometimes it was as innocuous as “so-and-so was supposed to be there for a meeting, remember?”

Sometimes it was “we really didn’t understand what was going on” (from my daughter, who was 7 at the time).

But sometimes the feelings were raw, as raw as they were that day. The comments were passionate and full of a pain that has not eased, even after all this time.

Rather than bring “closure” (that word again), the death of bin Laden stirred up a lot of anger and grief.

Personally, I didn’t feel angry; I got past that a long time ago. But I did find myself experiencing the uncertainty, the fear that I would never again feel truly safe.

You didn’t have to lose someone that day to have those kinds of reactions.

But as we move closer to the 10^th anniversary and the opening of the memorials, be mindful that these old feelings may pop up again. Grief has a way of biting you in the butt when you least expect it, and this is no exception.

The Myth of Closure - Part 3

It's been quite a week, hasn't it?

I’ve been talking to a lot of people this week about closure, as it applies – or doesn’t – to the death of Osama bin Laden.

The word has been bandied about in newspapers, blogs, Facebook, Twitter and every news program on TV.

My “research” has gleaned the following observations:

1.      Closure does not end grief.

2.      Justice does not ultimately equal closure.

3.      Those who speak most emphatically about closure tend to be observers to the situation, rather than directly affected.

4.      Those who are most directly affected by 9/11 don’t all see bin Laden’s death as closure.

5.      Believing there is closure makes people feel better, because they think they will no longer have to witness grief.

6.      Closure doesn’t change anything.

Wouldn’t it be great if the last observation were true?

Wouldn’t it be great if closure meant we are no longer in pain, grieving the death of a loved one?

Wouldn’t it be great if closure meant that the person we mourn comes back to life?

While it’s certainly a good thing that the world has one less personification of evil, it doesn’t, as a friend said this morning, “change anything.”

We will grieve; we still miss the person who has died. And while our grief will soften and evolve, it will never completely go away.

That’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Because as long as we have our memories, that person still “lives” in our hearts and in our minds.

For me, getting to the point where you can think about that person, and smile instead of cry…that’s closure.

The Myth of Closure

“Closure: the sense of finality and coming to terms with an experience, felt or experienced over time.” – Encarta Dictionary

“Closure” is a word frequently invoked in grief-related literature. Events are said to bring “closure” to people who grieve: discovery of remains, burial, 1^st anniversaries, etc.

But the news of the death of Osama bin Laden may only be initially considered closure.

Certainly, the death of the most wanted terrorist in the world is a cause for celebration, even not knowing how other terrorist organizations will respond.

But for those who lost family or friends on 9/11, there is no closure.

Osama bin Laden is dead, but so are their loved ones.

Don’t assume everyone is happy and “all right” now.

Don’t assume the grieving is over. In fact, this news will likely re-open painful memories for all of us who knew someone who died that clear, blue September morning. My first reaction on hearing the news last night was, “but Carol’s still dead.”

So, as we discuss this remarkable news today, remember all those who lost a friend or family member on 9/11. Today will most likely be a difficult day for them.