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.”

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

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.