Okay, this post might be controversial. I don't want it to be. But it could be construed that way. Hell, anything can be construed any way anyone wants.
Today (in case you've been sleeping) is September 11, otherwise known as Nine-Eleven. So my Facebook newsfeed is full of 9/11 memes. Of all the "Never Forget!" posts that I saw, there were only two that resonated with me. One was a post by a schoolmate of Tom Linehan with a picture of his name engraved in the memorial. Tom, once a student at a high school where I taught, perished in the towers. The other, written by a dear friend of mine, was a very poignant description of what it was like to watch the tragedy unfold on television while waiting for a spouse to come home from his job at the World Trade Center. All the rest were generic we-will-never-forget kind of things.
We are a forgetful nation, so there may be some wisdom in reminding us never to forget this particular tragedy. As if we could. But I have to wonder: what else are we forgetting?
There are many ways to die. And there are many terrorists. The terrorist that claimed my husband (age 45) and my best friend (age 51) was named Cancer. The terrorist that claimed another best friend (age 53) was named Heart Disease. The terrorist that claimed my mother was named Alzheimers. And the terrorist that claimed another childhood friend (age 30) was named Random Car Accident.
They aren't terrorists! you might respond. No? Think about it. Of course they are. We are all terrorized by Cancer. We all live in fear of Alzheimers. We all say a spoken or unspoken prayer to Saint Christopher whenever we get into a car. There are many ways to die. And my point is that we don't get to choose which way is ours or when it will happen. We all live on a wing and a prayer.
As did the people in the Towers that day. There but for fortune . . .
What is my point here? We all mourn our dead, no matter which terrorist claimed them. So I think that our hubris about 9/11 isn't so much about the lives lost as it is about hatred and fear of the other. (This is the part that is probably controversial.) But let me clarify: if you lost a loved one in the Towers on that day, you have a right to be angry, to grieve, to memorialize the day. Just as I have a right to grieve my husband's death from Cancer, to be angry, and to memorialize his death. But I do not believe that a death in the Towers is any more grievable than a death from Cancer. So I guess when cancer deaths become a national pastime in the same vein as 9/11 deaths, maybe I will rethink my position.
The bottom line? This life is a crapshoot. None of us knows how or when we will die. And more importantly, none of us knows why. The only thing we do know for sure is that eventually, one day, all of us will die. And yes, in a weird kind of way, I am in love with that randomness. Because not knowing the when or the how or the why of my demise is what keeps me learning, traveling, observing, and loving. For as long as I can.
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