Make That Day Go Away
Or as Billy Joe Armstrong Put It, "Wake Me Up When September Ends"
My experience on September 11, 2001 was certainly not as bad as some people’s. I didn’t die after all. I didn’t lose a family member or friend, though I know people who did. I wasn’t even in the vicinity of the Twin Towers. But I was in Manhattan. I wasn’t supposed to be, at least that early in the morning, but circumstances put me there, uptown around 57th and 7th. I’m not going to go into the blow-by-blow of where exactly I was or what I was doing, nor what I did in the immediate aftermath. I’ve thought about writing down exactly what happened to me, my husband, and child, that day, but I can’t bring myself to put the words on paper. I’ve told my story to some people, here and there, but it traumatizes me every time. Let me reiterate that my story is nowhere near as harrowing as many others who were in the city that day, but it was harrowing enough to make it the worst day of my life, and I’ve lived many decades now.
As the anniversary of the day approaches each year, I find myself wanting to just bury my head in the sand—not deny that it happened—but simply not to deal with it. I don’t want to go to work, or to the store, or to fulfill any kind of obligation on that day. I will not watch the news. I stay away from social media. The only person I really want to hear from is my friend Teresa, who I was with that morning.
I realize most Americans who are old enough to remember the day have their own perspective on it. Many of those who were not in the city want to commemorate it out of respect, and I appreciate that. Many of those who lost their loved ones participate in the reading of the names, or other memorials. Those who barely escaped with their lives, whether from the towers or from the area surrounding them, or in the other attacks, probably have their own ways of dealing with the residual trauma, that is, if their sanity is still intact.
It took me about 10 years to not start feeling dread as the day approached, starting in about July. Now, it’s not so intense. I simply want the day to go away, to make it disappear from the calendar. And I really don’t want to talk about it. This year, that dread rose up in me about a week before—more so than in recent years, and I don’t know why. I really did consider sharing in detail what I experienced that day. As a writer, I thought, hey, maybe it will help. But I just can’t. It’s a trauma that never goes away.
I hope that, this year, before posting your “Never Forget” images with graphic photos (any that depict the destruction of the towers I consider graphic), please have some sensitivity to those who were there. If you lost someone dear, or if you were in the city that day, then you should do whatever you need to do to find peace. But, if not, please, leave it alone. Respect our need to continue, all these years later, to heal.