So many painful memories of 9/11 were recounted Tuesday. And, understandably, one aspect of despair for quite a few individuals who experienced direct loss that horrific day eleven years ago is that the tributes to their loved ones seem to be smaller, fewer, less significant as time goes by.
I read one woman's lament of the loss of her twin brother. She is disturbed that people seem to have forgotten the torture, seem to have moved beyond the grief, of 9/11. She simply cannot comprehend how people can get up, sip their morning coffee and head out to work with no deep pain in their hearts on this day.
I suppose it's part and parcel of the human condition, that the brain heals from suffering by forcing painful memories to fade. But when the loss is too profound, too close to the intimate epicenter of one's being, the pain persists. You can see survivors of the Holocaust, sitting quietly at their breakfasts, tears streaming down their now-old faces, no matter how many decades ago they somehow prevailed through those atrocities.
Each and every one of us knows loss. We have experienced the death of a loved one. But how many of us have experienced the shocking, unspeakable trauma of war? Of terrorism? I have not.
In deference to those who suffered casualties on 9/11/2001, who will all the days of their lives suffer from those monstrous acts, the very least I can do is continue to pay my respects each and every 9/11. I listen to the reading of all the thousands of names. Beautiful, noble names. And I wish their loved ones peace.
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