Random Thoughts on "The Day After"

I managed to ignore the media blitz yesterday -- the ceremonies, the testimonials, the usual beginning-to-end coverage of the day's events. Yesterday's papers paid tribute to the day of imfamy. Today's papers pay tribute to the tributes. (Don't you people ever get tired of it?)

Whatever I had to say about the matter in question, could not compare to the pondering of pundits with already-established audiences, even if they had absolutely nothing new to say.

But what do we do now?

Ask a former employee of an office at the World Trade Center what he wants: "I want my job back." Ask the grieving widow of a missing employee what she wants: "I want to provide for my children. They have no father. I want my husband back." Ask a disabled member of the FDNY what he or she wants: "I can't work anymore, because I can't see or breathe very well ever since a year ago. I want my life back." Ask one ten-year-old boy mentioned in the paper yesterday what he wants: "I want my Mom and Dad back."

I don't ask nearly as much.

I want to walk into the building where I have worked for over twenty years, without having to empty my pockets and go through a metal detector (one that could not possibly stop a jetliner from crashing into said building). I want to board a jetliner without having to remove my belt and hope my pants don't fall down in public. I want to stop sobbing at my desk for no reason. I want a teenaged son who returns my calls.

Does this sound pathetic and self-indulgent to you? Then explain why my employer gave me a number to call if I was having trouble dealing with "9/11."

Don't tell me about God's will. I've been inundated with sermons and sermonettes, from everybody else with nary an unpublished thought. Even His Son had His moments of despair, like on the night before He died. He got a lousy response. I don't expect much better.

Come Thanksgiving, perhaps I'll make the drive to Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Alone. I'll place flowers at a make-shift memorial. If there's a restaurant open anywhere nearby, I'll have Thanksgiving dinner there. If there is not, I'll pack something.

I do expect life to go on. An hour at a time. A day at a time. Things could be worse. I'm still alive. I'm uninjured. The Divine Will has been made known. My Lord rose from the dead. I too can start again.