Something You May or May Not Know

...about me...

I'm a fixer.

OK, so what does that mean?

It means when something is wrong, when the world is unjust and someone is suffering or struggling, when anyone is sad, sick, or hurting in whatever way... I want to fix it.

And I know I can't, not usually.  Life has been slapping me in the face with that fact over and over and over. But somehow I've never been able to change.  My first impulse when someone tells me something is wrong is 'how do I fix it?'

'Fixing' things isn't always possible, or even the appropriate thing to do.  I know that sometimes all someone needs is a listening ear, a hug, someone to commiserate with.  I know they don't usually expect or even want me to 'fix it'.  But no matter how many times I remind myself of this, it's still my first impulse, and it still drives me absolutely crazy when I can't fix it.

And I'm not like this because I have a misplaced sense of my own importance, or a savior complex, or anything like that, I'm like this just because I hate to see anyone hurting.  Especially people I love - but truly anyone.  Ask a friend or family member who's been around my whole life... I'm that person who finds a 9/11 memorial to go to every single year, that person who holds her own personal candlelight vigil every time tragedy hits too close to home.  I do those things because whatever has happened... I can't fix it... but in some way, I feel like recognizing it... remembering... is the least I can do.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" people have asked me on occasion.  My answer:  Because it hurts more not to.  It tears me up for something bad to happen and me to just go on like nothing did.

But sometimes I mess up.  Royally.  Sometimes, when a friend or acquaintance really just needs a listening ear, someone to simply hear what they're saying and how they're feeling, I still find myself trying to fix it, without realizing that no one asked me to.  This was actually the impetus that set off the biggest fight I ever had with a friend in high school.  There were other things going on, but that particular day, someone she loved was in the hospital, and there I was again, offering to do this or that, trying to "fix" things, when she finally told me that no, there was nothing I could do, and to please stop asking.  At sixteen, with much less self-awareness than I have now, I didn't take it well and it set off a whole chain of events that led to me not speaking to someone who was very important to me for a number of years.  I thank God today that this person is back in my life and we understand these things about each other; she understands that it's my kneejerk reaction to try to fix things, and I understand how to read the subtle cues that she doesn't expect me to.

I still do this.  All the time.  Usually I realize it later, but probably not until I've totally annoyed someone.  If that person has ever been you, I want to apologize.  Sometimes I'm just no good at social situations, and this is one of my biggest issues.  Heck - even when someone outright says they just need me to listen, I mess it up, because in my mind I'm trying to figure out if they really mean it, or if they're just saying that... and then I end up driving people crazy because I'm still trying to fix something they already told me I didn't need to fix!  Just please know that it is never my intention to offend - I'm just dealing with things the only way I know how.  And I don't know how to feel helpless.  I'm no good at it.  I hate seeing anyone hurting, and so even if there's nothing I can do, I'll sit around racking my brain for ways to make things just a little bit easier.

If you think about it, you can see the evidence yourself.  If you've been reading this blog a while, or my other one, you might remember how I commented that after discovering the plight of orphans with special needs around the world in December 2011, I barely slept for two months.  Why?  Simple - I was up, day and night, torturing myself, trying to figure out how on earth I could help... fix... something going on halfway across the world!  It was only when I found an outlet for that need (advocacy) that I was able to rest easy again.  At least I was doing something.  Unfortunately, I find myself in a similar state of disequilibrium anytime something is wrong for anyone I even know... which leads to that whole foot-in-mouth chain of events I mentioned earlier.

I'm only sharing this because it's been on my mind a lot lately - I've noticed myself doing it, and I've wanted to apologize, and to help those around me understand why I tend to make idiotic social blunders, but I didn't know how... so this is both my apology and my explanation.

And there's something you may or may not have known about me... but you do now!

The Right Words

In the wake of unspeakable tragedy on Friday, millions of people are trying to find the right words.

To comfort the grieving.

To say to their children.

To describe how they feel.

To end the violence.

To ease the pain.

"I'm sorry" falls so pathetically short.  "I'm here for you" just doesn't seem like enough.  "Heartbroken" can't even begin to describe it.  Even "I am praying" can't do enough to take away the pain.

Many seek comfort in the Word of God when the words of man cannot speak strongly enough to their hearts.

I am sure that nothing can separate us from God's love - not life or death, not angels or spirits, not the present or the future. (Romans 8:38)

Jesus then said, "I am the one who raises the dead to life!  Everyone who has faith in me will live, even if they die.  And everyone who lives because of faith in me will never really die.  Do you believe this?  (John 11:25-26)

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.  (Matthew 5:4)

But Jesus said "Let the children come unto me, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven."  (Matthew 13:14)

His Truth lends aid to many, its worth cannot be overestimated, and yet, even the Word cannot erase the pain.  God did not promise that all our days would be without pain - on the contrary, he told us they would come!  In the same breath, He promised to guide us through them.

Two years ago, I remember discussing this very topic with my best friend after the bad news had come that her cancer could no longer be treated - when the 'if' we hadn't even dared to consider instead became a 'when'.  Angie was an amazing and unique person - there's not a soul on this earth just like her and there never will be.  As we had that serious conversation one night, we came to the conclusion that the 'right' words just didn't exist.  For as much as we both loved words, loved painting a picture with them, finding just the right one for every situation, they fell far, far short in times of grief.

Then, because we were both silly and couldn't stand to be serious for too long, we decided to make up our own word, to say all the things words couldn't say.  To say I love you, I'm with you, I'm sorry, I wish I could make it better, there are no words to express to you the depth of my emotion.  The word was "spingledon".  Then we had a good laugh about our new made up word, and like words themselves never could, each other's friendship and understanding comforted us both.

Another time, I remember agreeing with her that, "It's not what you say - it's that you cared enough to say it."  And that is what I want to leave you with tonight.  My best friend Angie was wise beyond her years, and a year and a half ago, she herself went home to be with God far too soon for any of us who knew her.  But I draw comfort today from the knowledge that she and her wisdom are there in Heaven, lending love and comfort to the children we are all grieving.

If you are grieving, if you are seeking to comfort the bereaved, if you are trying to put your feelings into words and coming up frustrated and empty handed, take heart.  No one has the 'right' words.  We all feel our way through the darkness, doing the best we can, and in the end, it's not what you say, it's that you cared enough to say it.  Your sentiment will shine through.

My choice of words for all of you?

"Spingledon."

Never Forget

I'm going to derail my blogging project one more time... to take a moment to remember.

Remember 9/11/01.

Remember the over 3,000 people who died that day... or because of the events of that day.

The true number may never be known.

Some families never got to bury their loved ones... because there was simply nothing left.

Remember the millions of lives changed by that day.

Remember the men and women who still fight to defend this country to this day.

What follows is my perspective - straight from my journal, written on 9/11/01.  I don't believe history is written by numbers and dates and names... I believe history is written by how it feels to live it.  I can't speak for anyone else.  That day was far worse for so many other people than it was for me.  But this is what it was like to be 12 years old on that day... to lose that childlike innocence forever because of evil, horrible tragedy.

Please note that all facts may not be accurate.  I only knew what was being reported on the news and it was so confusing and scary.  I worried about friends I knew only online, from all over the world.  I have chosen not to edit errant facts because I believe they speak to the general state of confusion of that day and the days that followed.

From the mind of a 12 year old girl, on 9/11/2001:

Today is a day that will survive in infamy forever.  This morning, at 8:45 AM, a commercial jet liner carrying many passengers crashed into one of the twin buildings of the World Trade Center.  Hours later, the building collapsed and another commercial airliner crashed into the second WTC twin building.  It soon collapsed as well.  Also, a plane crashed into the Pentagon in Washington DC.  Part of the building collapsed.  A plane crashed somewhere in PA, near where 2 of my friends live.  It was believed to be headed for either the White House or the Capitol building.  All of the planes were hijacked.  All were carrying a full crew.  The planes were headed across the country.  They used these planes because as they had a full load of fuel, they would act as a flying bomb full of innocent people.  In New York City, I have not much detail.  Marco could see the debris from his office.  The number of people killed and injured is unknown.  At the pentagon, still not much data.  Number of people killed and injured, unknown.  In Pennsylvania, the plane crashed two miles from a school, 20 miles from Sheila and 8 miles from Noel.  Sheila says the craeter is huge.  Other buildings around the World Trade Center collapsed later and one is not expected to last through the night.  There were many miracles on this day.  It's a miracle that all my friends all over the world are okay.  It's a miracle that many were saved from death in these tragedies.  Lots of miracles.  When I awoke this morning, it was a normal day.  The bluest sky I'd ever seen.  Jen e-mailed me.  We had fun in math class.  I had a good science class.  Lunch was fun and we had an extra long recess.  I did better than ever in band.  I sang well in choir.  Then, someone came on the announcements.  "In light of the recent tragedy, all after school activities are cancelled."  Cheers from the boys.  "What tragedy?" I whispered to the girl next to me.  She said "A plane crashed into the twin towers, and into the pentagon."  I did not understand the severity, nor did I know about the hijacking.  My language arts teacher gave us a longer story.  In tech ed we watched news for 8 minutes at the end of the period.  My social studies teacher made no reference.  When I went home, I watched the news and checked on all my internet friends.  I heard from all but Marco, among my closest friends.  Then we went to church to pray.  Hope and Ben, kids I babysit, saw my crying.  When I went home, I checked online, and finally found Marco.  I had been SO worried!  Then, I wrote this account of the infamous day in US history.  Thus ends my day, horrific as it was, now I must sleep.

Two days later, dated 9/13/2001, the next entry in my journal read as follows:

The government suspects Osama Bin Loden and his supporters in Afganistan of the terrorist attacks.  I fear we will bomb Afganistan in retaliation - OMG, I hear an airplane low.  Okay, it's okay now.  And then we will go to war with them.  Palestine will go against us too, possibly resulting in WWIII.  Please, not in my lifetime.  I am terrified of airplanes now.  I won't be flying any time soon. Tomorrow is National Flag Day, National Red, White and Blue Day, and at noon everyone is going to take 10 minutes of silence to remember the lost.  Church bells everywhere will ring.  Maeve, the moderator of my JAG board, has gone to New York to help the search and rescue efforts.  I think it is heroic of her.  God bless her soul.  They found the black box from the Pennsilvania flight.  They also found several people possibly involved terrorists.  A guy in NY gave a fake ID and said he was a pilot, but was found out.  It ain't over.  Lisa's in florida, and so is a hurricane.  Jen is in Texas, and so is an escaped convict who is armed and dangerous.  I will not tell this to Marco.  More buildings have collapsed or been damaged.  A small private jet was found circling President Bush's ranch today.  Military planes forced it to land, and they have taken the pilots into custody.  More tomorrow.  Arts in the Alley parade cancelled.  Now I am tired. 

The following day, 9/14/2001, this:

They found the flight data recorder from the flight that crashed in PA.  It is confirmed that the passengers on that flight did try to overtake the terrorists, and I'd say they did well.  That was heroic.  It rained in NY today.  That did not help the search and rescue efforts.  Jessica is over.  We are having a sale tomorrow to raise money to send to the American Red Cross for the NY/DC/PA rescue efforts.  I already have $20 from the carnival to send.  I WILL make money for them, and it WILL help.  If I can't donate blood I will donate money. 

Two pages later, my 'official will' followed.  In case I were to die.   The fear I felt in those days was real... 9/11 was the day my eyes were opened to the wider world, to tragedy, to heartbreak, and to hate.  It was a day that changed the entire course of history and the entire course of my life as well.  What preceded were the thoughts of someone on that day who was only a terrified child, and now years later as an adult has seen justice done.  If the impact was this huge on a twelve year old little girl in Ohio, who was so far removed... I can't imagine the feelings of both that day and this one for those who were closer to the tragedy.  

After 9/11, psychologists came forward and asked the media to stop showing the images, saying they would traumatize us and breed hate and anger.

As for trauma... there are things you only need to see once to be traumatized.  There was no going back after that day.

As for hate and anger... I am a Christian.  I believe in forgiveness.  I also believe in justice, and I believe in evil, and we SHOULD be angry at evil.

So no, I do not believe in censoring those images.  If you prefer not to see them, please scroll past them.  To me, they are an important part of remembering the emotion, the depth of tragedy, the reality... of that day.  I would feel remiss not to include them in this post.

This image will be burned into my memory forever.  Unspeakable horror.

The pentagon.  I drove by it a year and a half later... and the scars remained.  Some scars never fade.

The grave of heroes.  May their brave souls rest in peace.

Out of the ashes of that terrible day rose acts of heroism.  Indescribable human goodness.  Shows of love and unity.  A promise... to never forget.  After a few days, this image surfaced, and was emblazoned on every media site:

To the heroes of that day:  We can never thank you enough.

I never forgot.  Not for one single minute.  Not a day went by that I didn't see those images through my mind, that I didn't feel the fear, fear like no other I had ever experienced, that was born on that day.  I was awakened to the world, to the evil and kindness alike, and to a calling... to DO something.  To be different.  To make a difference.  To be a part of the 'good'... to fight this horrible type of evil.  I never forgot.  I never will.  I refuse.

A year later, memorial services were in full swing.  Thousands of people gathered at hundreds of locations nationwide and even around the world, to remember the tragedy, and the heroism, that had occurred one year earlier.  I watched this on my TV screen until I fell asleep:

All the way up to Heaven.

I listened to them read the names.  Toll the bell.  I observed a moment of silence.  I relived that day, heart breaking for the others reliving it who had lost more than innocence on that day.  

More information came out.  We learned about the final acts of heroism by people on the planes... the self sacrificial, courageous fight that likely prevented flight 93 from finding its intended target.  I heard the audio from the plane.  These people became my heroes... and my heart broke that they were gone... leaving countless loved ones behind.

To the people who will never know the change in the world that they brought about in their final act.

As more years passed, I felt angry because it seemed like the world had already forgotten.  The second year, I had to search far and wide to find a memorial service to go to.  Five years from 9/11, the only memorial within driving distance of me, in a major metropolitan area, was at the state Historical Society.  I went.  I took M with me.  She was only 7, and I explained it to her in an age appropriate way.  I didn't believe in sheltering her from the truth.  I wanted her to know the heroes of that day, know the evil in the world, and know that we had to fight it... but still know that she was safe.  Unlike me, those images were never emblazoned into her mind.  She never lay awake all night jumping to the window every time she heard a plane.  I gave thanks that she wouldn't experience the terror I did, and so many others did... but I felt that she needed to know.  Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it.

One year, I read all the names of the victims out loud, by myself, in my room.  Another year, terribly ill, I lie in bed all day watching the programming on TV.  I remember people asking me, year after year, why do you torture yourself watching this and reliving this all over again?  My answer is the same now as it was then.  I don't want to forget a single thing.  I want to know the stories of as many individuals as possible.  I want to remember each and every one of those victims for who they were.  I will not turn away because it hurts to remember - I can't.  I feel I owe it to the men, women and children who died that day... to never forget them.

Now... a beautiful memorial was built and dedicated last year - ten years from that horrible day.  It was beautifully designed, the footprints of the two buildings inset in the ground, reminding us all of the hole left in our lives by the loss of so many people that day.  Each and every name engraved.  Greenery planted... reminding us that new life rises out of the ashes.  I listened to the bell toll again, a decade later, unable to comprehend that it had been so long since our entire world had changed... still, ten years later, unable to believe it really happened... but also knowing it did.

May this day, these memorials, these memories, be a testament to the heroes of that day.  To their stories.  To the ordinary people who woke up never knowing the horror they were about to experience.  To the men and women who, when everyone else ran from danger, climbed UP floor after floor of stairs, dedicated to saving lives, knowing they were risking their own.  May the mark of the fallen on this world never fade.  May we never forget.  For all that is necessary for evil to triumph, is for good men to stand by and do nothing.  Do something.  Remember.