First, of course, my thoughts go out to those unsure if their loved ones are alive or dead, with hope and the deepest sympathy.

Second, I guess, is my own grieving. There were two hours, yesterday, when I didn't know where my father was, and couldn't get in touch with my family. That fear is nothing to the suffering of so many. But from that first shock of uncertainty, my sadness has been continuous. I feel so much sadness and so much sympathy for all of those affected, for my fellow Americans, and for all the world, for I doubt many were left unshaken. I am grateful for so many friends of mine who have checked on me, and so many friends of my country's who have done similarly. And I'm grateful, so grateful, for how lucky I was, and how everything is OK.

But every time I think that, the immediate next thought is how many others were not lucky, and their lives will never again be OK.

I first realised just what a large scale this was all on, when I heard the news talking about New York City public schools being shut down, and where parents could go to pick their children up. And I thought:
'But what about the children, so many children, who just don't have parents to pick them up anymore'

And I finally broke down and cried yesterday, when a mother described the call her son had made from the airphone:
'Mom, mom, I love you, we're being hijacked, mom, they took over with knives, remember I love you mom - '

until the call was cut off. The thousands number is too big to fully understand, maybe. And each one of those is sombody's child. I hear that mother's voice telling the story over and over again in my head, knowing thousands more mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, sons, and daughters are now suffering just as much.

Last night I was up far too late, glued to my TV and computer screens, watching the awful footage and hearing the same news over and over again. And this morning school was on, but so many teachers understood our need to talk. My mother's a professor at university and she, too, let her students begin getting it out. People need to start talking through their grief.

One of the things most amazing has been the way our country has come together in the aftermath. People are flying the flag everywhere. I feel more patriotic than I have in years. The Red Cross is swamped with volunteers. I turned 17, the minimum age for giving blood, last week - and now I can help, and I will. The President made a speech yesterday that - though I disagreed with politically, made me feel, again, like America is coming together. That comforts me.

At the same time, though, I am scared by the threats of war, by the urging to violence. In Israel, I witnessed riots and violence against Arab civilians the weekend a disco in Tel Aviv was bombed, and it affected me greatly, even more than I had realized until yesterday. Revenge will solve nothing, revenge cannot change the past. My father watched as the two towers burned, and like so many others I fill up with anger - But now all that's important is not taking more innocent life. People who incite more violence are just helping the terrorists. And we can't answer hate with hate.

But right now, above all politics and all patriotism, my strongest emotions are still shock, sadness, and the numb feeling. I've finally heard from the last friends who might have been there, and I know that my small corner of the world is, though not fine, still going, living through it.

But so many others are not -

loreth

13.09.01. Front Page

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