Does the Remembering End?

When does the remembering end?  Is the cut off date in months, years or decades?  Is it that the remembering ends because the healing has begun?  Is it just easier to forget because the memories cause too much pain or have our lives become far too busy and remembering, or an assigned day to remember, isn’t convenient?  Do some feel that by remembering the past we aren’t allowing ourselves to propel forward?  For those who choose to remember, are we seen in a state of limbo – moving two steps back, or maybe sideways, but never following a road that leads to a future?  Does the remembering end when the physical is wrapped tight in green mesh so the horror of rubble and remnants of steel can’t easily be photographed?  If we can’t see it, we can’t remember it?  Is it only the visual which moves someone to take the time to pay their respects?  Isn’t it possible to be in the moment, without the fanfare, close your eyes and feel?  Can we listen to the sounds swirling around us – carried by a breeze so fresh our skin feels kissed by dew?

This year is different.  The vibe isn’t the same.  I don’t know if that’s bad or not.  Maybe the people who are suppose to be here are here.  Maybe what happens after years pass, are those who want to be here and need to be here are all that remain.  Maybe that’s okay.  Those of us who are drawn to continue to remember today don’t want to be judged anymore than those who choose to stay away.  We all have our own reasons.  We all have a choice.  I’m blessed to be living in a country where that’s okay.

Tonight, those of us left appear to be artists/creators.  I’ve met painters, sculptors, photographers, writers and musicians.  They all seem to see and appreciate the tragedy that occurred six years ago, and the healing of spirit that occurs now.  It’s sometimes disturbing to me what I find inspirational.  If we become inspired to create due to an event like 9/11 and the aftermath following, does it make us insensitive?  If six years later, we still feel the souls brushing past us and yet there’s a calm, does it mean that we have lost the meaning of the innocent lives lost?

I don’t smell the death anymore.  My stomach hasn’t been replaced by a boulder.  I don’t have to remember to breath when I’m down here.  However, my heart still feels weighted.  The lump in my throat bobs up and down, so trying to swallow it away does no good.

I know I’m grateful to feel what I cannot see.  I know I’m thankful for those I love who never forget me on this day.  I know I’m blessed to be down here to remember.

~ by Michele Mattia on 2007, September 12.