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Saturday morning, I went into work, intending to spend a few hours getting the piles off my desk before I headed to Beverly to help get ready for Diana�s shower today. I stopped to talk momentarily with Jackie behind the front desk, who was there to check in the handful of mammo patients that hadn�t cancelled their appointments. She filled me in on how the week had gone in the hospital. Apparently, our building was evacuated the day after I went on vacation, a full week before the �Attack on America,� the result of a bomb scare that turned out to be nothing. There was no evacuation during the actual crisis. We�re a hospital, a level-one trauma center, the place that needs to be fully staffed on an occasion such as this.
Jackie relayed to me the story of a man who had overheard the front desk staff talking about the World Trade Center collapse, the first time he heard any of the news. He came close to losing consciousness in our waiting area; his son was in the first tower. He returned the next day to let everyone know his son was okay.
I finally headed in toward my desk, discovering that the aftermath of my two weeks out was not nearly as bad as I�d feared. The office, though, was eerily quiet. I�ve never been bothered by being the only person in the area before. Of course, I�ve never gone to work on a Saturday when my country is on the edge of war before, either.
I opened my emails. Almost 400 new messages, the majority of them telling me to go out and light a candle on Friday, or containing copies of an editorial published in a Canadian newspaper that praised the US, or sending out official directives from the hospital administration about dealing with the crisis. A few were from the Boyfriend�s friends, chatting about Oktoberfest, or making unfortunate and unrepeatable racist remarks until they were squarely shot down and reprimanded by another friend. A couple were from friends, genuinely concerned over my whereabouts and well-being. Then I found the message from Tim.
Tim, whom I�ve mentioned in here before, is an old friend whom I met on a train in Spain. He was my pen pal for years, and I recently found him again after losing touch for a long time. He�s one of the first people I gave access to this journal.
His email carried the sad news that his wife�s brother is still missing, hasn�t been heard from since Tuesday.
Tim, if you�re reading this, which I doubt you are, but on the off chance, know that I am praying for you and your family. I can�t imagine what it must be like to be where you are right now, but that doesn�t lessen how much love and hope and prayer I�m sending your way.
I finished reading his email and sat at my desk and cried. I didn�t stick around at work for long after that. Alone and crying, I wasn�t accomplishing much. Besides, I wanted to be around people
It�s funny. Because of the timing of Tuesday�s events in relation to my plans, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday all became about Jennifer and the Boyfriend Getting Home. We weren�t glued to the television, watching the horrible footage over and over. Instead, we sat in the minivan and listened to the Disney CD�s I�d bought before we left Orlando, to the 80�s collection and the Frank Sinatra tape we�d picked up cheap at Wal-Mart in some random Florida suburb.
Now that I�m home, and I�ve had the TV on for days, and we�ve moved further away from the same terrifying scene of fire and destruction and into the heartache and despair of the human aftermath, the whole series of events is becoming much more real to me. Suddenly, the tragedy has a face.
This afternoon, my mom and I watched as the names and photos of all the New England dead and missing flashed across the local NBC affiliate. Suddenly, my mom gasped. �Oh my God�Richard Ross! That�s Dad�s old boss from Tri Companies!�
Dad worked for Richard for several years, before the dark times in our family. I�d met him on a few different occasions, sat with him in his company�s box at my first-ever Red Sox game. He was a nice man. Two kids, both younger than me. My mom had done their birthday parties back when she and her friend Lois still ran their business.
Suddenly, I, too, knew personally a name on that list.
We had Diana�s shower today. I�m glad. It was a period of happiness and normalcy and laughter in the midst of what has been an otherwise bleak week. The party was in another building on the grounds of the barn where the Boyfriend and I are getting married next year. It was also the first time I�d seen many of my relatives since our engagement became �official,� so I received many congratulations and admiring exclamations over the ring. Truthfully, it�s the first time since last Tuesday that I�d let myself be happy or excited about the wedding.
As far as Diana went, she was thrilled and surprised, and the shower went incredibly well. For a little while, I even forgot the news.
Of course, at one point, I was standing in the kitchen with Gina, Diana�s sister and one of the other bridesmaids, discussing whether we had enough food for all 70 of the guests. Gina was worried that the ham would run out. I kept telling her it would be fine. Finally, she looked at me and let out a halfhearted laugh. �I guess that when you consider what else is going on in the world, whether or not people get a second helping of ham is really pretty trivial, isn�t it? It�s not like any of us are going to starve!� I had to agree with her.
After we finished cleaning up, I followed my mom back to Sharon, where I joined her and David for dinner. Later, she and I walked up to the center of town where the firefighters had planned a candlelight vigil. Half the center was blocked off, and at least a couple hundred people showed up, all with lit candles, many carrying flags and/or wearing their red, white and blue. The rabbi from one of the local temples spoke briefly about loyalty to our country and kindness to our fellow Americans, regardless of their countries of origin or religious beliefs. He then called for half an hour of silence, to be followed by a tribute by the fire department.
It�s amazing how many people find it impossible to be silent and respectful, even for just a few moments, even for such a valid and important reason.
Dude, no one cares how worried you are about the stock market right now. That�s not why we came down here. Pray. Reflect. Make a mental grocery list, for God�s sake, but SHUT THE HELL UP, WOULD YOU?!?!?!?!
Anyway�
At the end of the half-hour, which was broken up intermittently by people breaking out in wobbly versions of The Star Spangled Banner, God Bless America, This Land is Your Land, Battle Hymn of the Republic and other first-verse-learned-in-elementary-school patriotic songs, the fire department rang its bell with a 2-2-2-2 signal, reserved usually for the funeral of a fellow firefighter. Our fire chief explained that it signaled the fire is over, the danger is passed, and the firefighter is journeying home to God. Thankfully, the crowd remained silent for that.
Mom and I started quietly toward home, not wanting to break the peace of the moment.
We paused at the edge of our lawn. Our house is a big white Victorian, right on the main street. Many of the other vigil attendees walked past it coming to and from the center. My mom had gone through the house and put the Christmas candles in all the windows, so each of the nine front windows were lit up. The front porch light was on, illuminating the decoration she�d placed over the front door, a throw she�d purchased several months ago. It�s made in the likeness of the American flag, but with the words to the Pledge of Allegiance stitched into the stripes. The house looked so pretty as we approached.
Just before we headed up the driveway to the back door, I noticed a family stop at the end of the front walk. Slowly, they all processed to the edge of the porch, placed their hands over their hearts and recited the words together: �I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.�
It was a moment that made me feel alternately touched and chilled. That this family would be spontaneously moved to make such a gesture on our front lawn was awesome, in the true sense of the word. Their pause brought several other people to stop as well, until we had a little circle of patriotism outside. I stood and watched with tears in my eyes.
Then, for the first time in ages, I thought truly about the meaning of those words.
I�m not good at pledging blindly. And the words I�ve heard on the news over the past few days have frightened me beyond expression. I don�t understand how we can declare war against a �suspect��against anyone whose name we do not truly know. I don�t understand how we can plan an attack around speculation. I don�t see how a full-scale military onslaught that will kill thousands more, many of them innocent people, many of them our own soldiers, will make what happened last week seem answered. I don�t believe in �an eye for an eye.�
I didn�t vote for Bush. I don�t agree with almost any of his politics. But I live in a country that he�s now leading straight into war, and I have no choice but to hope that he knows what he�s doing, or at the very least, that he�s surrounded by people who have a good balance of intelligence and compassion and courage and wisdom and strength. But can I pledge allegiance to him, to that hope? I don�t know.
Of course, I am lucky enough to live in a place where I can hold that opinion and not worry about being killed for voicing it. At least, I do right now.
When I stop and think hard about it, which I�ve been doing probably WAY too much these past few days, I realize that the reason I have no idea how to proceed here, the reason so many of us have no idea how to proceed, is that we have no basis for comparison, for foundation, for understanding. What happened last week is unprecedented here in our country. How could we possibly have prevented it, or know how to deal with it?
In the meantime, I try to find a way to continue along, to not let the sorrow I�ve been carrying around inside consume me, to not let the fear take over. I try to pray, but I don�t know exactly what to pray for. I don�t know what would be a good next step. I continue to hope that when I turn on my TV next, I�ll see a story that reflects a miracle. One�just one�of those thousands of people missing and now-almost-certainly-presumed-dead could be pulled from the devastation alive. I pray specifically for those whose names I know, for Tim�s brother-in-law, but any miracle, any moment of hope, would be wonderful right now. And I find the words to a song I learned in junior high to be on a constant loop in my head.
Let there be peace on Earth, and let it begin with me
Let there be peace on Earth, the peace that was meant to be
With God as our father, brothers all are we
Let me walk with my brother in perfect harmony
Let peace begin with me, let this be the moment now
With every step I take, let this be my solemn vow
To take each moment and live each moment in peace eternally
Let there be peace on Earth, and let it begin with me
Peace be with you all this night.
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