9/13/01: The Long Road to the New Home
The world is weird today. People are quiet. You don't have to preface things with an explanation. If someone's crying, everyone knows why. There are people I see walking around with rosaries in hand, just silently working around the Hail Marys and Our Fathers.
I haven't seen a lot of Arabs or Muslims out on the street. I want to say that I understand that it isn't their fault. I don't even know where to start with that.
This is just a constant process of remembering. I forget it from moment to moment. In any given moment, I can forget and remember it ten or twelve times. Typing that last sentance, I had a split second of forgetting what I was that I was saying I forgot and remembered. And every time it smacks just like the first time.
I can't wrap my brain around it. I can't make it stick. Let's get real here. Probably 20,000 people died. How many people is 20,000? My high school graduating class was 200. One hundred of my graduating class? When I graduated NYU, there were probably about 10,000 people cramming Washington Square Park. Two of those? But how many people is that, really?
I've been stuck mostly in shock, I guess, but I've had some bargaining. That's what I was doing all day yesterday. I was testing myself like this: "If I could make it not have happened by cutting off my hand, would I cut off my hand?" "Would I cut off an arm?" "Would I die myself?" "Would I..." I just keep coming up with more and more horrible things. I've tried to make myself stop it. There's no reason to torture myself. I would probably do any of these things if there was any way that it would magically fix things. But since it can't, there's no reason to think about it.
I guess I had one moment of anger. I was blow drying my hair, and when I finished, I thought it looked good. Then I felt bad that I was pleased with myself for something so dumb. Then I had this one moment of anger. Why should I feel bad for feeling good? What right do those dead people have to yell at me? I took a step back then. I was the one imposing these restrictions on myself. The dead people wouldn't want me to have ugly hair, I'm just being stupid. They wouldn't care one way or another. They know I'm sorry. They know we're all sorry.
I just got back from teaching an SAT course in subburban CT. The kids didn't seem to be affected by "what happened." "Um, because of what happened on Tuesday," says one of the girls, "we missed class. Are we going to make that up?" Here I am trying not to cry and they don't seem to feel anything. I had this whole speech prepared for them, something along the lines of: "Yes, I know we're all grieving, but you still have to study for the SAT because you can't give up on your future." But they were... not in that boat. ::sigh:: I guess that's just as well. It means that they didn't lose anyone in the blasts.
I'm going swimming again tomorrow. It's tiring me out really nicely. It makes it so I can sleep at night without thinking too much. Thinking really sucks sometimes.
I'm not sure when I'm going to feel better again. I'm not sure how to feel normal -- I'm not sure what steps to take because I don't even know where I'm going. I don't know what the "new normal" will be or when I'm going to know I got there. I guess I'll know I'm at my new home when the sound of thunder outside my window doesn't scare me anymore.