In the past it would trigger depression, angry that my body knew what my mind wanted to suppress, and upon acknowledgement of the moment, my mind stills realizing that my body is still experiencing the trauma and probably always will. It finally releases its hold and sinks into the sadness to drift off to sleep. It's a marathon showing until the day passes, and I am released to ease back into the functioning world again.
About ten years ago, we had moved from downtown Chicago to Cleveland. I had just been getting thru some things with my therapist when I needed to find someone there to continue diving into the things that came to the surface after my first pregnancy with the twins. In the "getting to know visit", 9/11 came up but I breezed by, as I normally do. He was on to me though and stopped me immediately. He was easy to talk to, I felt safe of judgement, and he asked the really hard questions; so, my story flooded out. It was the first time I had spoken out loud the details of that day in a very long time. Once I started, though I couldn't stop. When I came to what I thought was the end of my story; we were both in tears and he looked me right in the eye and slapped me with some truth I refused to give life.
I didn't want to share my story because yes, the pain of remembering that day could bring me to my knees at a moment's notice. But I also felt unworthy, guilty for not being happier, for living, for not losing someone who had my heart. It's hard to admit where your mind is willing to go in the dark and I was scared that people would think I was crazy or overemotional; unwilling to admit the dark thoughts were sometimes really scary.
He spoke of unresolved ptsd, survivors' guilt; words that I was offended he would use to describe me. But he gave examples of my story, of the things I was struggling with currently; that were all proof of what he was saying was truth; the idea my story had relevance, that it should be shared, that it could speak to someone who needs to hear it; mattered to me. That the sadness I carried, decisions I had made in my life that I questioned, all pointed in a direction I was unable to see through the fog. So, he pushed me to write it. To give it life so that I could lay it to rest one day. He gave me tools to begin to understand the incomprehensible, and I wrote my story here. I read it every year, and every year I remember new moments. The moments of triumph and unification. Of being gathered at the local bar days later and hearing sirens. We ran outside to see one of the most beautiful sites I still have ever seen to this day. Fire trucks from all over the country were finally allowed into the city and with lights on and sirens blaring came parading down 2nd avenue like a convoy of angels. Joy, relief, human kindness, and selflessness leaping along the way. It was a moment lost to me until I shared it every year and every year a new memory comes or someone who was there too will remind me of, and the triumph of human kindness my mind had kept locked away walked in on a white horse.
It helped. He encouraged me to light a candle each year and I do. It helped. I surrounded myself with my family to cuddle and be melancholy with, it was the most I could muster to not cry too much in front of them. I gave myself grace to sit in the sadness and let me body and mind process it. It all helped enough to get me through it. Understanding the why of something has always helped me endure nearly anything put in front of me. I had reached a new view of my story.
And 2 years ago, this new adventure I allowed myself to venture on had an event over this weekend. It would fall in the middle of the convention, and I was headed to Atlanta to be in a house with 25 strangers I knew from the internet. My friend Jen was the only person I had had any kind of conversation with, and it would be the first time we actually met in person. I was nervous about the candle, but I needed it. Would these women think I'm strange, dramatic, would they judge and turn their backs on me? It was the first time away from my family and I was already watching the 3rd viewing in my head that year. I needed that candle. Jen saw it immediately and made a joke, it was the first time anyone had made me laugh about anything even associated with that day; even a phallic looking candle. It broke the ice, and I gave her a brief answer asking if she thought it would be ok to light for the day, so I did. I thought about explaining myself, but I didn't. I'd sit there trying to pay attention to what was going on the virtual event, but the tears betrayed me silently falling despite my urging them to stop. The candle helped keep my heart and head rooted as best as possible. When the question was finally asked, most of the women hadn't realized what day it was. Some happening before they were even born. But what would've normally angered me, made me sad. I shared a few things that I felt were important and I listened to other perspectives without judgement in my heart. My fears of being rejected was unfounded and even if they would never truly understand the impact of that day; they showed me kindness, acceptance, and even a few hugs. Looking back, I can't believe I did that. But maybe it was my head finally dragging my body thru the mud to the other side. I can say now and seeing it clearly that was a life changing moment for me.
Fast forward to this weekend and I'm attending my first convention in person. Once again, I was going alone, but this time I had friends from that trip, others I met in Vegas, and still more I met on a retreat that I was excited to see. This small community just seemed to happen without me even realizing it. Knowing the day fell over the weekend, I knew it was coming but I was so busy trying to ensure I crossed every tee to make things as easy as possible on Christian and the kids; it was booted to the back theater.
But by the time I got to laying down that first night; my heart inevitably started pumping, my mind racing on all the things I needed to do the next day until my thoughts began to shift and mind and body looped into the reliable pattern of the anniversary.
This time, though, the movie looked different. The terror came but standing next to it was courage daring me to finally start living life without apology. Anger's scenes were holding hands with calmness; understanding that anger just needed a little patience to be in its moment. Sadness walked in with hope that the future would hold incredible happiness. The resentment in anger's corner was being coached by the memories of love grateful for my parents who got thru to me that morning before we were cut off from the outside world. My nephew who will forever be my rock and never fails to tell me he loves me each year. And Mary, who was a 2nd mother to me, who loved me as her own and would call me every year to say, "Hey you matter to me and I'm thankful you are here." My broken heart for the fallen and their families sitting alone on a bench still unsure why it was spared. Worthlessness being slapped by devotion to this amazing family that exists because I did and purpose tapping on their shoulders saying you could make it matter bigger if you just came this way. Guilt walking thru central park deep in conversations with respect and tenacity.
And Appreciation closing the curtain on the choices I made that put me in my own bed the night before, safe. Not knowing then, that innocence would kiss me goodnight for the last time.
Feeling all these new feelings- I let them all in; curious where they had been hiding. They said they had been there all along. When the keynote speaker came to the stage, I had already dived into exploring these emotions, and he said some pretty powerful things that I was finally ready to hear. I saw the pattern I was stuck in because I couldn't see it; because I wanted to believe I should suffer too. But is that the way to honor anyone? Can I turn that pain into something meaningful? Am I willing to follow those little moments of joy that have been creeping into my life as of late, that are showing me the path forward? Well, I made a decision today that I am going follow them and see what I see. And I'll let you know what I find along the way. Thank you for being a part of my journey, and for listening without judgement. Never Forget is taking new meaning in my life, and even though I can't quite make out who is standing in the shadows I will keep looking until I see thru a crystal-clear lens.
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