The grief was still too near, a matter for tears and not yet for song.
~J. R. R. Tolkien
You just sit and try to understand. But some things cannot be understood. Some paths are just too dark to see the other side, and once you have turned down the path there’s no going back. It’s dark and no one can take the journey for you. There is nothing but forward, though you do it with trembling and uncertainty. This journey is not of my choosing, but it is mine nonetheless.
* * *
After two weeks of dealing with the aftermath of September 11, our family returned home. I was to resume the threads of a normal life. But how could life ever be normal again? Outwardly, I performed all that was expected. Inwardly, I felt as though I was moving through a thick fog, dazed and confused. Within days of arriving home, we celebrated our youngest son’s birthday. I sat there looking on, knowing that I needed to cherish the moment, this first birthday of my last child, but really, I wasn’t even there. I felt nothing. I was numb. My son’s entire life has been his mother trying to come to terms with 9/11. Yet somehow, I walked through the days and months that followed. The school year continued, more birthdays came; then the holidays approached, and the weariness set in.
Life is hard. Just the breath we take in can become a burden. There were days when all I could do was focus on the next moment, for to look beyond that next moment was overwhelming. I would go through the day saying, “All I am going to do is unload the dishwasher. That is all I have to do. I will think of nothing but unloading the dishwasher.” Then I would swallow the tears and unload the dishwasher. Then I would say, “Now I am going to load the dishwasher. I will think of nothing but loading the dishwasher….” Moment to moment was all I could handle. I wanted to throw the covers over my head and stay in bed forever. But I had a baby who needed me, so I got up and faced each new day, each day where no dawn could reach me.
The terror of it all surrounds me. Though I would shake it off, it pursues me, violently storming against me. How can I outrun the wind? The more I leave off, the more it seeks me out. My soul is poured out in my distress. I am dissolved in a flood of tears, my vessel full of holes so that nothing is contained. “The days of affliction take hold of me.” (Job 30:15–16)
How can God understand my hurt? “Does He have eyes of flesh? Or does He see as man sees?” (Job 10:4) Even worse, if He grasps how I feel, how could He let this happen knowing full well how this would affect me? If God is Love, how can He allow Hate to strike His own?
* * *
“What strength do I have, that I should hope?” (Job 6:11a) My mind is like a house filled with archways. I have no doors that I can shut against the grief. My sorrow flows freely into all aspects of my life. I can never escape it. “I am not at ease, nor am I quiet; I have no rest, for trouble comes.” (Job 3:26)
And so the tears come as the loss overwhelms, like a wave that crashes into me and tosses me, threatening to drag me out to sea. Each new memory casts me back into the grief and loss. The emptiness consumes me, a fire that cannot be extinguished.
See what God has shown me through the tragic events of September 11 in my true and personal account: SILENT RESOLVE AND THE GOD WHO LET ME DOWN (a 9/11 story)
Excerpts taken from SILENT RESOLVE AND THE GOD WHO LET ME DOWN (a 9/11 story): Episode 2 – Awakened and Episode 3 – Tears