Beyond Our Words

We remember.

We remember exactly where we were, what we were doing, who we were talking to.   It was a beautiful September day.  And then it wasn't anymore.  And it wasn't for a long time.

Ten years later  I simply need to let my thoughts fall. On Friday night I watched a 9-11 anniversary special on television and oddly enough, I wanted more. But more what?  More words. More words examining, thinking, looking with fresh perspectives. More words leading us to a path that is different from the one this country has traveled since that fateful day. A path that initially brought people together but sadly, began to diverge into hardened stances where compassion seems to have evaporated.

Because it impossible for anyone to forget. All you need is one image. Just one image, of the north tower moments after it was hit, replays all the 9-11 stories, of both towers falling, of people running for their lives in NY and DC, a crater in a Pennsylvania.  And bravery beyond what most of us know - with men who trudged 100 pounds of gear up the down staircases, and men who wouldn't take no for answer and stormed a cockpit. People whose world went dark and reached through their own moment of hellish terror to bring another to safety.

To honor their courage, to truly honor the memory of what happened, we need to do better.  Beyond our words. We need to move beyond our words. Before they grow meaningless.

#  #  #

Samuel Barber, Adagio for Strings http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGMwNe9WWmE

About Denell

These days my friend Heidi, and her sister Rindala, and her sisters friends, and their two brothers, the families of their husbands and their wives, their mother, cousins, adopted brothers and sisters, classmates, co-workers, neighbors, students, all the saints who pray and a circle of influence that wraps the globe are in mourning.

The unexpected happened. The unimaginable. The eldest sister, Denell, died February 11, 2009 of malignant melanoma. She was 47. Her diagnosis had occurred eight months earlier.

Over a twenty-seven year career Denell taught in Lebanon, Cyprus, Jordan, Japan, Kuwait and before her illness, in Oman, where she taught fifth and sixth graders at The American National School at Muscat. She was a teacher, a leader, a friend, a daughter, the woman at the party you'd want to hear laugh.

As news of her death spread friends and former students immediately formed a group and posted photos on Facebook. An international community signed on and started writing. She loved chocolate, candles, lemonade, good humor. She was a fan of close-up face shots like the one above, with her sister Heidi (left) and Rin (in the middle). Two years ago I was in France with Heidi and she set up the same shot.

We all ache when our friends do. Sometimes we think we know what they are going through. Sometimes we don't. Stages of grief are a myth. It hurts like hell and then suddenly, it doesn't hurt quite as much.

What we do know is this: that you loved her. You will always miss her. And if you ever want to talk, we drop everything for that moment, just to sit, and listen.