photo by jan buchholtz / flikr
I watched that somber scene last week in New York recalling that day when 3,000 of our brothers and sisters lost their lives. The drums sounded, the bagpipes played their sad tunes. People—many family members or friends called out name after name of those lost that morning or soon thereafter. We remembered. And we reached out in our grief to one another in the weeks and months that followed. We all lost something that day and in the days that followed. We went to war which has evolved into the longest war in our history. It still goes on. And once again we have lost. Thousands that came home in “little boxes, little boxes.” And children and wives and husbands and lovers and grandparents and friends and so many, many others lives were changed. And so when we remember that day there are still lumps in many of our throats even after these nineteen years.
For the last few years I have been leading Grief Support groups. And so much sadness has walked through those doors because all that came lost somebody. Some more than one family member. Many brought the pictures of those they lost. And they told stories—good and bad—about those that were no more. Some grievers couldn’t stand it and just left. Grief was too fresh.
Grief is like an amputation
Loss is like an amputation, sometimes I would say to my groups. And we will be different from here on out. Hopefully not groveling in your grief but like those amputations that the person still feels that leg or arm or breast or other organs long after the surgery is over.
Grief changes us forever, And for some time after September 11th we reached out beyond ourselves and old and young and many in-between and genuinely cared for one another. On subways and streets we smiled at strangers not knowing who they were or if we would ever see them again. But we were bound together—most of us—seeing others through different eyes. We all grieved but each one in separate ways.
Losses just hurt. And we had suicides and drug overdoses and hoping those drinks would take the pain away. There were divorces and depression and anger, so much anger. The whole terrain around us makes us feel like we are in a place we do not know.
One friend told me that going to the cemetery to bury her husband a cousin drove the car as she wept uncontrollably. The cousin turned around and said, “Sis, you have got to get over this—now. Stop that crying.” Like those that fled my grief groups. We all have a hard time facing the darkness that always comes with loss.
Another Kind of Loss
And after nineteen years we all are wading through another kind of loss. Since January when the virus trickle had not become a roaring river we didn’t think this weird virus would affect us. Yet like it or not—we have lost 200,000 teachers and little children and strong men and women and doctors and nurses and aides who have cared for the dying. The list of those names is seemingly endless.
And so many others have lost their jobs, And name brands we thought were sacred have closed up shop and will not come back. Loss. So many cannot make their monthly payments on homes and apartments. Some now live in cars and others on the streets. Thank God folk have established food banks for many in need. And yet many that come never look us in the eyes because shame does that. And loss. Everything has been touched—church, schools, sports—everything. And it isn’t over yet and may not be for a long time.
Anger and rage are in every town. We have spit on Chinese. We have bullied immigrants or worse. So many have taken to the streets to protest so much. People have been shot by citizens with guns and by policeman. Cities have burned as if there was nothing to lose. Oh, but there is.
One Day
One day hopefully not years away we will look back and remember. And once again we will call out all those other names. Much more than 200,000. And we will wonder why we turned on our neighbors as if they were enemies.
This coming election it may not solve our problems. But it might help. There is no Messiah out there. But we need a healer, we need someone who understands all the grief awash everywhere. Someone who can put their arms around the whole nation and build some bridges across our treacherous divides. And teach us what is our part in this enormous challenge.
So as this sad remembering ends I think of all we lost that day on September 11th and all those thousands that fell victim to this virus. We grievers one and all were really one people. And old wise Lincoln reached for his Bible when he said, “A house divided against itself cannot stand.”Our tortured history should teach us that. But Rome fell and Germany fell and Vietnam and so many others. Let’s do what we can remembering that we are all grieving one way or the other.
Mary Oliver wrote:
"Someone I loved once gave me
A box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand
That this too, was a gift."
Let it be, Lord. Let it be.
--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com
