5/2/11

the morning after

I went to church this morning, something I’ve done on every anniversary since 9/11. Today’s not an aniversary, of course, but it felt appropriate. Frankly, I needed the quiet, the dark, a place to try and pull my thoughts together about what’s transpired in the last twenty-four hours. I needed to pray.

Last night, I think I can sum up what I felt as relieved. A ten year journey come to its seemingly inevitable conclusion, a lingering sore lanced once more in the hopes that it might finally heal. I can understand why the families of those who lost loved ones celebrated last night, and I hope it brought them closure. I lost loved ones that day, but my closure came several weeks ago, kneeling in front of a bench at the Pentagon Memorial, blind from tears. I did not need Bin Laden dead to come to peace with what had happened, but I am not sorry, either.

When I woke up, that relief was still present, though subdued, joined by a bone-deep sadness that got larger as I looked at pictures from last night’s celebrations. Even typing that feels wrong, and maybe, maybe, if it had been more pictures of quiet grace like those of the firefighters, watching in Times Square, I would feel less uneasy. Instead, I saw college kids cheering, jubilant, and felt slightly sick.

Bin Laden’s death doesn’t bring any of them back. I don’t have the access to information to be able to say with any certainty if it actually makes any of us safer. I sat there this morning in the stillness of the church and what I thought about, over and over, was our Memorial Day Vigil in that same space last year, where we spoke the names of all the U.S. servicemen and women who have died in Iraq and Afghanistan. I thought about all of the thousands of lives - Andy’s, Michelle’s - lost, the billions of dollars spent for this one moment and I can’t muster triumph. I’m not sure under what circumstances I could.

I miss them every day. I think about the world I live in now, the only world my son will know, this America, whose fractures have been more and more exposed since that day, and I do not feel made whole, because of this. I did not wish him dead, but I am not sorry he is gone. The only thing I can do is continue to work, and pray, for peace. That’s the only way to be whole.

This picture was taken last night at the Pentagon Memorial. It’s one of the few that feels right.