Got Him!

This morning, New York Post's main headline simply reads: "Got Him!" 

May 1st,  2011, almost ten years after the 9/11 tragedy that rocked America's very foundation, Osama bin Laden has been brought to justice. Our very own Navy Seals swept in and ended his life, an evil reign has finally come to an end. 

Do you remember that sunny day, the one that changed everything? 

When I was a kid I never understood how so many people could recall in such great detail exactly where they were and what they were doing the day JFK was assassinated.  But I've come to realize that devastating events tend to immediately sear into our brains.  There's no way to forget and nor should we.  September 11th, 2001 will forever be burned into us, so catostrophic that the scars will never blend away.  However, bin Laden's death somehow serves as a salve, it takes a tiny bit of the sting out, soothing some of the burning pain.  After all these years, America has stopped holding her breath, if only for the moment.

Like so many others, I remember that day, waking up with the news on (like always), I opened my eyes, sat up in bed, and watched live as the second plane hit the twin towers.  I couldn't fathom what I was seeing, I honestly thought it was old footage of some other time, some other place.  It never crossed my mind that this was happening here, on U.S. soil.  It was unthinkable.  America is a sanctuary, a haven, home of the brave.  Acts of terror take place elsewhere, not here, not ever.  That day we lost so much, we lost precious lives and at the same time we lost a sense of freedom.  My heart goes out to those who were robbed of their loved ones and friends.  Al qaeda mapped a path of destruction so far and wide, few could escape it.  The stress and horror of it trickled down to each and everyone of us, manifesting itself in different ways.  For myself, the stress ate at me, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get away from it.  I've often wondered if the baby I was carrying at the time was lost because of this.  I still mourn that unborn child.  We were all robbed that day, we all mourn.  So who could blame us for being overcome with joy at the news of bin Laden's death?

I watched on in the early hours as Americans rejoiced in the streets.  And I wanted to celebrate with them, to step into my television and find myself in Times Square, punching my fist in the air with triumph, smiling and crying tears of happiness.  

Let's be frank, shall we?  Bin Laden was a wicked, terrible man, motivated by hatred.  What a relief it is to finally be rid of such a source of evil. But as much as I disliked him and everything he stood for, as I watched my fellow Americans flocking to the streets, grinning and cheering "USA" over and over, I was suddenly overcome with grief.  Not for bin Laden's death, trust me, I find great comfort in the fact that he's gone.  No, my grief was for us. For Americans.  Because the scene playing out on my television set was so uncannily similar to footage I've seen of certain Middle Eastern countries rallying against us, celebrating the murder of our people, thrilled by our demise.  Scenes that have sickened me over the years.  What are we becoming?  I, for one, don't want to be like them.  Rejoicing in death.  No, we should rise above it, lead the way, set the example.  Somehow it feels as if bin Laden is still winning, as if by giving into this primal side, we're just like him. I don't want to give him that, he's already taken enough. 

And let's not forget that this isn't over, we still have a long way to go.  America will take in a few more deep breaths and then continue in her plight to free our world of tyrants and oppressors. On the news last night, Tim Brown, a heroic firefighter who managed to survive 9/11,  spoke of bin Laden's end. "This is symbolic, but it certainly doesn't end the war on terror. " To which the news anchor agreed and replied, "This takes out the head of the snake, but the snake can still writhe for a long time." 

Al qaeda still exists and still needs to be dealt with.  I pity them on some level, one thing about us Americans, we never give up and we never stay down.  America will prevail, and though much that was lost cannot be replaced, with each step we take, we slowly recover the sense of freedom stolen that day not so long ago.

   

Out of Time

I want to know how many minutes I have left in this world.  Is my time up in a day (1,440 minutes) or a week? (10,080 minutes).  Am I lucky? Do I have years left? Maybe thirty or fifty.  At first glance that seems like a long time.  But with how quickly these first thirty years have passed, I'm thinking the next thirty will be over in a blink.

Things were different when I was eighteen, I thought I had all the time in the world--and I was only invested in myself, I had nothing to lose.  Now, with children who rely on me not only for practical reasons, but also to just be here, I have everything to lose.  I often think that if I can survive long enough to see them married, then they'll be okay.  I could drift into the sound, become a part of the backdrop of their lives, and eventually disappear like a puff of smoke, and they would be just fine without me.

But there's no guarantee that I'll last that long and so I must admit that lately I have this sense of urgency about me.  It's the time, you see, it's pressing in on me. Stealing my breath.  Just now I wasted an entire minute turning on Ratatouille for my two youngest. (BTW: No school on Good Friday, TV is allowed today according to my kids. Mom is outwitted yet again.)  The stupid DVD producer guy set it up so that I couldn't fast-forward past some commercial. I literally watched the green line at the bottom of the screen tick off the sixty seconds as I pondered how I could have better spent that precious minute.  That desperate feeling leeches into every part of my life.  The last time my husband dared to ask me to go for a walk, it was almost perilous.  I'm not sure how he survived it.  I set out at this crazy brisk pace, comparable, I suppose, to one of those speed walkers you sometimes find coursing the mall.    I was in a hurry, a really big hurry.  There's no time, no time you see... I have turned into Alice in Wonderland's white rabbit with the pocket watch.

This is the very reason I have written so many books and not one is perfected.  I've been afraid to stop, that I won't get these stories down on paper before I'm taken from this world. Five manuscripts written in less than a year and a half.  The last two took about a month and a half each to complete.  And they aren't short, I'm talking ridiculously full, complete novels. Approximately 85,000-95,000 words a piece.  Those who have read my work, love it.  If only I could slow down enough to polish these books, perhaps others will get the chance to read them too someday.

I would like to be around to see that. There's something about the idea of a reader breaking away from the terrible reality of  this world, landing instead in my world, that I find slightly overwhelming.  So I've put on the breaks, I'm slowing down, at least long enough to finish what I've started. Who knows? Maybe I'll even stop to smell a rose.