I have always been one who prefers to deal with negative emotions by assiduously not focusing on them, by trying to keep them buried where I need not look at them. This is very Scandinavian, and my upbringing, despite my Italian-American Dad, was very much in the mode of my Norwegian-descended Mom and Grandmother. If I was hurt and came in crying, they would tell me to “suffer in silence.” Many will say that this is an unhealthy way to deal with trauma, but the Scandinavian countries have very high life expectancies, so maybe they are onto something. I am also an Adult Child of an Alcoholic Parent, and believe me, suffering in silence can be a real survival skill. It is no surprise that for years I held Mr. Spock as my chief role model. Whatevs, as the kids say; the reflex to swallow negative emotions is deeply internalized by now. It will do what it will do.
I have always been one who prefers to deal with negative emotions by assiduously not focusing on them
Twenty years and one seemingly endless nightmare pandemic later, I find that I am profoundly weary of 9/11. Dragging ourselves through that slough of emotional despair seems almost fetishistic, but not one of the fun ones. It’s worse on the anniversaries that end in five and zero, but on any September 11th, I find myself dreading the inevitable reprise of exploding planes and fluttering office paper. I can’t look away fast enough. For those who lost friends or family that day, it must be an unimaginable hell.
But of course, no one can fully escape the drumbeat.
On 9/11/02, my wife and I had a penthouse room (free upgrade!) in a very tall hotel in downtown Chicago. Near sunset, I stood looking west out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Gina had just left to do some shopping. Against a lurid orange sky I watched a jetliner rise out of O’Hare, bank east and fly straight towards me at eye level. With great calm I bolted and quickly descended the emergency stairs, sixty or so stories, to the lobby and onto the street.
On 9/11/11, while being emotionally assaulted by the same lurid images of a decade ago despite my efforts to neither see nor hear, I finally realized what exactly the media was peddling; snuff porn.
On 9/11/21, my wife and I and two dear friends had an extra day in Paris because Alan, who organized the trip, refuses to fly on 9/11, just in case someone out there in terrorland has a particular thing about anniversaries.
In America, 9/11 finds you.
Dave VentreA hyper-annuated wannabee scientist with a lovely wife and a mountain biking problem.
It’s pretty hard to escape what 9/11 meant for our country. War and division were the ultimate byproducts, and here we are today.
As always Dave it’s good to read your insightful and well-written stories, despite the sometimes awful subjects you tackle.
Yes 9/11 finds us.
This year on September 11, a dear friend’s son got married in Northern California, and we all celebrated life together with nary a blink at the horrible memories—though lots of concern over active domestic threats and California recall. How refreshing that was! On a similar tangent, I discovered that “the day that will live in infamy”, December 7, doesn’t seem to live in the collective consciousness here in Canada. We process our traumas and try to move on, especially if we can turn off the news. Thanks for your insights on the anniversary, well said.
Thanks for this insight, Dave. Glad you don’t dwell on any particular painful memories. I think that is healthy.
Well put, Dave, and thinking and reliving that day are inescapable, show of emotion or not.
You are so right about the “slough of emotional despair” that occurs every year, although as I say in my story, all the terrible things that have happened in the last 18 months seem to make 9/11 pale by comparison. And how great that you had an extra day in Paris last week! That should now become your 9/11 memory!