more words
September 12, 2001 02:37 PM

I revived bending [an old journal filled with sad, sentimental bits] yesterday to shut out my own strange feelings of wait. The effort of making something that was absolutely clear, the simple effort was a relief before relief came on its own.

It seems every time something tragic happens. Something military. I knew, or almost knew, someone directly and painfully touched by it.

Not yesterday. Not in the same way as usual. Not in that way where I'm part of a community that knows, that expects to realise that some are okay and some are not. Not in the usual way at all.

Even the atheists turn to prayer. To something. To the feeling that we're all tied together. Whatever you turn to, turn some of it towards the people who had no reason to expect loss of loved ones. To the firemen and police and rescuers and everyone who will doubtless have years of nightmares to come.

And to her. To unidentified, unknown people like her. To everyone still waiting.

Fifteen years ago (not to the day) we kept a sort of media vigil for sailors thousands of miles away and (then; sailing now is so much different) completely out of touch. Waiting.

Media turned that day into a newsclip-laden radio hit. It probably seems like a distant, respectful soundbite to most people, but it just fills my eyes with tears of remembered unwanted child-fear. And that was just waiting. That was just a few hundred people who voluntarily stepped into danger thousands of miles away.

So. It's been said. Prayers, blood, words. Whatever you have. Give it.

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