This week: When the world stops . . . Edited by: Fyn-elf  
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If we learn nothing else from this tragedy, we learn that life is short and there is no time for hate. ~~Sandy Dahl, wife of Flight 93 pilot Jason Dahl.
For me and my family personally, September 11 was a reminder that life is fleeting, impermanent, and uncertain. Therefore, we must make use of every moment and nurture it with affection, tenderness, beauty, creativity, and laughter. ~~Deepak Chopra
What separates us from the animals, what separates us from the chaos, is our ability to mourn people we’ve never met. ~~David Levithan
The future doesn’t belong to the fainthearted; it belongs to the brave. The Challenger crew was pulling us into the future, and we’ll continue to follow them. ~~Ronald Reagan
It's a terrible tragedy, but you don't stop flying airplanes because an airplane crashed. You don't stop driving automobiles because you have an automobile accident. It's the same sort of thing, but it's that this is so dramatic it tears at you emotionally. ~~Skylab astronaut Bill Pogue
Let us not emphasize all on which we differ but all we have in common. Let us consider not what we fear separately but what we share together. ~~John F. Kennedy
If more politicians knew poetry, and more poets knew politics, I am convinced the world would be a little better place in which to live. ~~John F. Kennedy
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Sometimes something happens and the world stops for a moment. When it starts revolving again, everything is different. There's a distinct line drawn between the before and after.
Sometimes, it is something rather minor in the overall scheme of world events such as a death in the family or a divorce or, maybe, even a child being born or a marriage.
These 'smaller' events certainly change the day-to-day way we go about our lives. Being alone, an 'I' instead of a 'we.' Not having that other half to talk with, do with, exist with after many, many years of being a partnership. Lack of sleep, getting used to the plurality of a newly official joining, or addition to a household. In the immediacy of life, these smaller events are huge as they affect pretty much every occurrence in everyday life. Nothing is quite the same after that loss or addition. It changes the dynamics on multiple levels.
Other times it is not a minor thing, but instead, something that affects everyone in some form or another. We tend to remember those times. My parents and grandparents were always crystal clear about exactly what they were doing when they heard about Pearl Harbor.
I was nine when JFK was assassinated, but I remember being in the car with my mom and hearing it on the radio. I didn't really understand it then, but I could see how people in the Grand Union grocery store were affected. People were in the aisles, crying. The man to whom I'd just handed a box of returnable bottles dropped the box when I mentioned it. He handed me five dollars before rushing off. I'd had a $1.32 cents coming. He didn't stop when I hollered that he'd given me too much money. School was closed. The TV in our house (which was rarely ever on more than during the news or a special show) was on for days straight through the funeral which we all watched. My grandmother cried. She said at the time that 'the innocence that was just rebuilding after WWII was gone again.' She also said that Camelot had crumbled.
This piece of news scared me because we'd been to see Camelot on Broadway and (long story) King Arthur had made me a Princess of Camelot backstage after the play. He'd told me to always be sure to keep the story of Camelot alive. I was bewildered. How could Camelot be gone? As I grew older, I understood what she'd meant, but then? It was, to my nine-year-old mind, absolutely terrible.
My kids were introduced to 'before and after' when the Challenger blew up as they were watching it at school. They were so positive that the main part where the astronauts were would be recovered from the ocean with everyone just fine. My middle child was adamant that they'd be rescued. He was shattered when he realized that, no, they weren't.
Befores and afters.
Twenty-three years ago, today, the world shifted on its axis yet again. I'd been in the World Trade Center. I worked on advertising accounts with people at Cantor-Fitzgerald. I knew countless people who worked in NYC, and many of those worked in The Twin Towers. Watching it live on TV had me in utter disbelief. I remember calling and calling my brother in Boston, not wanting him to go into Boston to work that day. When I finally reached him as the calls wouldn't go through, I'd awakened him. I told him to turn on the TV. Which channel he'd asked. I told him it didn't matter. It had just come on when the first tower collapsed.
Later that day I heard from a friend. She'd been scheduled to fly to LA that morning. She missed her flight due to Boston traffic. That evening, alone at the camp we had nearby, I was walking in the dark back from doing laundry. I was thinking about how quiet the skies were with all the flights grounded. Then I heard a roar. Three fighter jets flew low overhead. Scared me and I dropped to the ground, then took off running to the 'safety' of my camper. Like a camper could stop anything. It was just jets circling around Kennebunk and former President Bush's home. But to this day, a low flying plane makes me uneasy.
A military cousin and his working dog scoured ruins. Word came, as the days went by, of friends who'd made it out alive and those who perished. My youngest decided to join the U.S. Navy after she graduated from high school.
The company I worked for downsized as Cantor-Fitzgerald was one of our biggest accounts. And one of several in the South Tower. The accounts I'd handled no longer existed. I remember taking the T through Boston going to my office to clear out my desk. Police were very much in evidence as the train rumbled beneath Boston. I'd worked the Census (transient populations) underneath Boston the two years before counting homeless who lived there. I heard how they'd cleared all of them out and wondered where they'd gone.
The world, certainly my world, changed that day. It was so strange seeing the skyline of NYC for the first time months later. My daughter left for basic training. Along the way we found out that the cab driver on the Alewife run (of the T) to Medford had driven a former boyfriend and I numerous times. He was on one of the planes and had been majorly involved. In large ways and small, 9-11 had touched my life.
When Covid infected our world, things changed yet again. We were on Maui when it first got 'bad' and they (the government) talked about closing airports. We wondered if we'd be stranded in Hawaii. (I could think of worse places to be stranded!) Although masks were not yet required on the plane, many people were wearing them.
People reacted quite differently regarding wearing masks. Some folks were terrified of going out. Others, not so much. Personally, we were careful. We got the shots, and I got miserably sick from them. We never caught Covid. (Knocking on wood as I type.) I hated that you couldn't see if people were smiling or not. I really missed the smiles. People seemed to be passionate about 'following the rules.' Or not. Folks were incensed about how many people were dying. About how it was handled. (Well or not.) Many have simply soldiered on, others still wear masks. Some are being protective of themselves. Each needs to do what is right for them.
Twenty-three years later from 9/11, a new tower stands sentinel. Children of parents killed that day are having children. Flying anywhere has changed. Even getting/renewing a driver's license or passport is different.
Tuesday, my husband and I were at the grocery store and I asked several younger people about 9-11. Three didn't know what I was talking about. A couple of others said they'd learned 'something or other' about it in school. One said it never happened and was just a conspiracy theory. Another asked why I wanted to know, commenting, "Not like it was important or anything." Out of perhaps fifteen people in my so unofficial survey only three 'knew' what I was talking about. Two of them were quite knowledgeable about the subject. One said his dad had joined the Army after it happened. Another said he hoped no one attacked the US again. One parent asked me why I'd even bring it up. "Ancient history and all that." My questions weren't about starting a debate or even a protracted conversation, but I found it incredibly sad and unnerving that the attitudes were what they were.
Perhaps, to them, it was not a defining moment. Just a 'new normal.' That, too, I find disconcerting. And yet, life goes on. I worry that other things, perhaps even more disastrous things may be hovering just beyond the horizon. I wonder how people will handle it (or not!) But I shall continue to write about it.
Before and afters. Defining moments in our lives. How we go on and handle them from the humongous to the more familiar changes. Happy defining moments are such blessings. The unbearable ones are devastating. One can only hope we never experience another Pearl Harbor or another 9-11.
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Tommy Books  says: It's a passion! I write to escape, the purpose of writing - fiction is escapism. Though, now that I write, and am a little bit more confident, I write to shore up and strengthen my mind.
deltablue writes: Because I have to. If I didn't, I might explode - burst at the proverbial seams from all these thoughts and ideas trying to get out.
Beholden  comments: I write because no one else is writing the things I want to read. That was my excuse for getting serious about it, at least.
Kathleen Cochran writes: Why do I write?
I am always in love with my latest tryst, my latest article. Whatever I've just written, I can't stop thinking about. I go back and read it over and over again. I touch it. I fix little things I don't like so much about it. I reread my favorite parts. I overlook mistakes because I'm so enamored of the whole.
But then a week or so goes by. Sometimes just a few days, and the love affair with the newest article loses its ability to thrill. It was OK. I'm glad I wrote it. But I'm on to the next, proverbially hanging out in bars, surfing the net, playing on the office softball team. Keeping myself available and on the alert for the next attraction.
Every once in a while, I'll stumble across an old article. It's like finding a years-old movie stub in a coat pocket, or a half-torn ticket to a concert by a band they don't even play on the radio anymore, or a corsage flower pressed in a book that I decide to reread on a rainy afternoon. And I remember how much I liked it when I wrote it. I reread it, and you what? It's not half bad. Maybe it would be a better piece of writing if only I'd known then what I know now. Who knows? But it's old. It's in the past. It's over. Still, I'm glad I had the experience of knowing it. I smile remembering how it made me feel at the time. Like a former lover, I put the memory away and move on to the attractions of today.
What a writing slut I am. I fall so easily. I'm so ready to turn up my tender underbelly and expose all my fears and feelings and secrets to the faceless screen on any available computer. I give in without playing hard to get for even one drink - writing whatever inspiration seduces me. Then I just walk away. Leave that article to wake up alone in my portfolio, wondering where I went. Wondering if I'll ever call again. But I'm long gone. On to the next. Like the fleet just docked.
The truth is, I never really forget my former loves, all those articles listed on my portfolio page. I may not want to relive the circumstances that prompted me to get into bed with those specific ideas, but no experience is ever remembered with complete regret. When I recall each and every article, I'm reminded of the sensations they made me feel at the time, for that brief encounter. That literary one-night stand. The memory usually brings a smile to my face.
And I fall in love with each one a little bit again - for the moment.
Kathleen Cochran
First published on writing.com as an article.
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For Authors: September 11, 2024 Issue [#12738]
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