Five years ago I wrote this about our experiences on Sept. 11, 2001.
It's so hard to realize that those events occurred 10 years ago. Ten years ago we were still in the SFBay area, although we'd been looking at houses in Red Bluff a few times. We had just returned from moving Princess #3 from Chicago to Birmingham where she was going to live with Princess #1. Only a month earlier we had attended the Dahl cousins' reunion in Cambria where my mother's sisters and brothers, most of their children, and their children's children had come together for the first (and so far only) time, although there have been smaller gatherings a few times since.
Ten years ago I was barely into my 50s. We'd been married a little more than a year. My mother was still alive and so were her brothers: all now are dead and still missed daily.
Ten years ago the world changed forever, and not for the better. But Americans came together in ways they had not since World War II, and for a while we were united in our grief and shock and determination not to allow the unthinkable act of war to be forgotten.
Unlike my husband, I do not have any positive memories of that time: he writes today about an event at his company that forever touched him and helped his whole company get through such a difficult time.
What I remember is sitting in a meeting a few days later with a product director demanding that I come up with better, more enticing descriptions of monitor screens and wrist rests, and getting angry when I made only minor copy changes. When she complained to my manager, he reminded her that not all of us process such catastrophic events in the same way, and she responded, "She (meaning me) didn't know anybody who died. Why is she so upset?" And my manager looked at her for a moment, and then said, "Somebody has to grieve for them." He put off future meetings for another few weeks and helped minimize my contact with that person. She left the company not long after that.
The tragedies of Sept. 11 are all over the TV this weekend and I'll be glad when it's over, frankly. I don't want to remember it any more vividly than I already do. It's difficult to see anything positive that came from those deaths, although I'm sure that there are programs that take that spin.
But after the tumultuous, divisive political battles we've had in recent years, and the ongoing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan that have sent so many of our soliders home in body bags or with horrific scars mental and physical, it's hard to remember that for a little while just 10 years ago we were a united people, all Americans, all grieving for what we had lost that morning. We are still grieving for our country and all we lost, but we are not united any more about much of anything.
Showing posts with label tragedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tragedy. Show all posts
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Of life and death
"Silence in the face of evil is itself evil...
Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act."
- Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor and author
Late the other night I saw a Facebook post written by a cousin that was pretty clearly a suicide note, although it was not despondent or angry. It simply said that it was time for him to go, embellished with a few descriptive phrases.
I posted a brief comment saying that it sounded very final, with a question mark, and eventually went to sleep saying prayers for him.
He was on my mind when I got up, and when I logged on to the computer, I searched for the post but it was gone. So I sent him a brief message expressing concern and included my phone number.
I hesitated only a moment before I first contacted him, knowing I would be drawn into a conversation that no one wants to have and probably result in an extended family crisis of sorts, knowing that I don't know him or who he really is, and yet I was unable to accept NOT responding compassionately to such a very public statement. What if my response could make a difference in how he feels? And what happens if no one responds to his post? How sad.
He called yesterday afternoon and we talked for several hours -- more, honestly, than I've spoken with him in decades. Note: While I have many cousins on this side of my family tree, I am not close to any of them either geographically or emotionally. I know a few a bit better than others, and we connect several times during the year usually through e-mail, but only rarely face-to-face or by phone. There is a family connection that I do honor, however.
Today's Daily Om speaks precisely to family and our connections with each other, and it struck me with its spot-on timeliness. It explains the connection I felt when I read the post and why it is important to who I am.
This cousin is not a spring chicken: he is plenty old enough to know what he wants, has done some remarkable things and has, he told me, answered all his spiritual questions. He is tired of living, is facing some very difficult issues, and said that he doesn't have a plan for moving forward, can't see a future for himself. He also told me he had 'pulled the trigger' the night he posted his note, but it "didn't work." He did not elaborate.
Others who live in his area have now become aware and involved. But I do not think, nor do they, following their own conversations with him, that anything we do or say will make a difference. Only he has control of his own destiny -- which, actually, is as it ought to be, since we cannot save any lives but our own.
Ultimately nothing was 'resolved' in our conversation. There are no magic words that will make a difference in how he perceives his situation, nothing I or anyone else can say that will deter him if he is determined to end his life. But I cared enough to reach out to him, and that touched him. I acted out of compassion and from the shared experience of family heritage. I'm glad that I did. I'm sorry it took such an act for us to connect, even if briefly.
It also has made me consider where our moral obligation begins and ends as far as the taking of one's own life is concerned. He asked if I would try to stop him if he had a terminal disease, for instance. While I don't know for sure what I would do for myself should I be in that circumstance, I believe I would want to have the choice, especially when confronted with such debilitating illnesses as Alzheimers or Lou Gehrig's disease, for instance. (May that never be so...)
I believe he has the right to end his life if he chooses. Both I and at least one other reminded him of the devastation his death would bring to his family, reminded him that change is the only constant and that all things do change, and made sure he knew where to find help should he reconsider. He knows the drill; he knows all the talk. He'll do as he chooses. His is not a heat-of-the moment decision.
Were he a teenager or 20-something, I'd have responded differently. But he isn't. He has thought this through and while I don't agree with his assessment of his future, I don't live in it either. And so I honor his right to make that choice for himself, and I told him that I would bear witness to what he told me -- and he encouraged me to use any part of our conversation to help others better understand what he is feeling.
Whatever the outcome, this will stay with me for the rest of my life. It has reinforced for me the knowledge that I am not ready to leave this world, not even if the next offers second chances and new beginnings as my cousin believes it does. This world, this life, has offered me plenty of both, and I am certainly not done with them yet.
"The Summer Day" by Mary Oliver asks in its final line, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" I want to cherish that wild and precious gift, every single day.
I want to smell the newly mown grass and the heavily-laden, heaven-scented lilac bushes this spring. I want to sit out under the Milky Way and watch the meteor showers this year. I want to taste the still-sun-warm strawberries from the field down the road, and the first ripe tomato from my own garden. I want to read about another gazillion books, and go to the ocean this summer to cool my toes in the Pacific sand and marvel at its constancy. I want to pet more kitties and gaze into their all-knowing eyes and see that they, at least, have figured out the mysteries of the universe. I want to wrap my brother in my arms at least once this year and tell him how glad I am he is my brother and how much I love him. I want to go out to lunch with my daughters and buy them each something pretty and giggle at silly things with them, forgetting for a little while their problems and issues, and just celebrating our connection. I want to go to sleep every night in my husband's arms and wake up every morning to his loving brown eyes looking at my sleepy green ones. I want long conversations with him over good, strong coffee and hot breakfasts, and over fresh lunches, and over nutritious dinners. I want to cry when I see pictures or read stories that touch my heart or remind me of my parents and how much I miss them, even though I talk to them in my heart every day. I want to write long letters to my best friend and read hers that tell me all about her remodeling and gardening efforts, and her recovery from cancer, and I want to say thank you to the Universe, to the Mother and Father God, about a million times a day for every day that I have left on this beautiful earth.
For in spite of bickering and threats on the political front, pig-headed, stubborn zealots of all religions and political parties, in spite of the devastating effects of nature, in spite of an economy that is struggling to revive with valiant stories of renewal and rebirth -- and yes, second chances and new beginnings -- this is a beautiful earth. This is a beautiful life. I have lessons left to learn, and, I think, things still to teach. There will be pain and some suffering involved, I'm pretty sure, since growth doesn't happen without it. But I am not ready to leave it all behind. In fact, I'm ready for more total immersion: I want to make the very most of the days and years I have still to live.
I'm sad that my cousin can't see anything else for himself. But he has unwittingly given me a mirror to examine my own future and to see what I want. And for that, I am grateful beyond words. May my own life be a reflection of what I hope for others to see. And please say a prayer for him, and for those who will be so terribly lost without him.
Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act."
- Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor and author
Late the other night I saw a Facebook post written by a cousin that was pretty clearly a suicide note, although it was not despondent or angry. It simply said that it was time for him to go, embellished with a few descriptive phrases.
I posted a brief comment saying that it sounded very final, with a question mark, and eventually went to sleep saying prayers for him.
He was on my mind when I got up, and when I logged on to the computer, I searched for the post but it was gone. So I sent him a brief message expressing concern and included my phone number.
I hesitated only a moment before I first contacted him, knowing I would be drawn into a conversation that no one wants to have and probably result in an extended family crisis of sorts, knowing that I don't know him or who he really is, and yet I was unable to accept NOT responding compassionately to such a very public statement. What if my response could make a difference in how he feels? And what happens if no one responds to his post? How sad.
He called yesterday afternoon and we talked for several hours -- more, honestly, than I've spoken with him in decades. Note: While I have many cousins on this side of my family tree, I am not close to any of them either geographically or emotionally. I know a few a bit better than others, and we connect several times during the year usually through e-mail, but only rarely face-to-face or by phone. There is a family connection that I do honor, however.
Today's Daily Om speaks precisely to family and our connections with each other, and it struck me with its spot-on timeliness. It explains the connection I felt when I read the post and why it is important to who I am.
This cousin is not a spring chicken: he is plenty old enough to know what he wants, has done some remarkable things and has, he told me, answered all his spiritual questions. He is tired of living, is facing some very difficult issues, and said that he doesn't have a plan for moving forward, can't see a future for himself. He also told me he had 'pulled the trigger' the night he posted his note, but it "didn't work." He did not elaborate.
Others who live in his area have now become aware and involved. But I do not think, nor do they, following their own conversations with him, that anything we do or say will make a difference. Only he has control of his own destiny -- which, actually, is as it ought to be, since we cannot save any lives but our own.
Ultimately nothing was 'resolved' in our conversation. There are no magic words that will make a difference in how he perceives his situation, nothing I or anyone else can say that will deter him if he is determined to end his life. But I cared enough to reach out to him, and that touched him. I acted out of compassion and from the shared experience of family heritage. I'm glad that I did. I'm sorry it took such an act for us to connect, even if briefly.
It also has made me consider where our moral obligation begins and ends as far as the taking of one's own life is concerned. He asked if I would try to stop him if he had a terminal disease, for instance. While I don't know for sure what I would do for myself should I be in that circumstance, I believe I would want to have the choice, especially when confronted with such debilitating illnesses as Alzheimers or Lou Gehrig's disease, for instance. (May that never be so...)
I believe he has the right to end his life if he chooses. Both I and at least one other reminded him of the devastation his death would bring to his family, reminded him that change is the only constant and that all things do change, and made sure he knew where to find help should he reconsider. He knows the drill; he knows all the talk. He'll do as he chooses. His is not a heat-of-the moment decision.
Were he a teenager or 20-something, I'd have responded differently. But he isn't. He has thought this through and while I don't agree with his assessment of his future, I don't live in it either. And so I honor his right to make that choice for himself, and I told him that I would bear witness to what he told me -- and he encouraged me to use any part of our conversation to help others better understand what he is feeling.
Whatever the outcome, this will stay with me for the rest of my life. It has reinforced for me the knowledge that I am not ready to leave this world, not even if the next offers second chances and new beginnings as my cousin believes it does. This world, this life, has offered me plenty of both, and I am certainly not done with them yet.
"The Summer Day" by Mary Oliver asks in its final line, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" I want to cherish that wild and precious gift, every single day.
I want to smell the newly mown grass and the heavily-laden, heaven-scented lilac bushes this spring. I want to sit out under the Milky Way and watch the meteor showers this year. I want to taste the still-sun-warm strawberries from the field down the road, and the first ripe tomato from my own garden. I want to read about another gazillion books, and go to the ocean this summer to cool my toes in the Pacific sand and marvel at its constancy. I want to pet more kitties and gaze into their all-knowing eyes and see that they, at least, have figured out the mysteries of the universe. I want to wrap my brother in my arms at least once this year and tell him how glad I am he is my brother and how much I love him. I want to go out to lunch with my daughters and buy them each something pretty and giggle at silly things with them, forgetting for a little while their problems and issues, and just celebrating our connection. I want to go to sleep every night in my husband's arms and wake up every morning to his loving brown eyes looking at my sleepy green ones. I want long conversations with him over good, strong coffee and hot breakfasts, and over fresh lunches, and over nutritious dinners. I want to cry when I see pictures or read stories that touch my heart or remind me of my parents and how much I miss them, even though I talk to them in my heart every day. I want to write long letters to my best friend and read hers that tell me all about her remodeling and gardening efforts, and her recovery from cancer, and I want to say thank you to the Universe, to the Mother and Father God, about a million times a day for every day that I have left on this beautiful earth.
For in spite of bickering and threats on the political front, pig-headed, stubborn zealots of all religions and political parties, in spite of the devastating effects of nature, in spite of an economy that is struggling to revive with valiant stories of renewal and rebirth -- and yes, second chances and new beginnings -- this is a beautiful earth. This is a beautiful life. I have lessons left to learn, and, I think, things still to teach. There will be pain and some suffering involved, I'm pretty sure, since growth doesn't happen without it. But I am not ready to leave it all behind. In fact, I'm ready for more total immersion: I want to make the very most of the days and years I have still to live.
I'm sad that my cousin can't see anything else for himself. But he has unwittingly given me a mirror to examine my own future and to see what I want. And for that, I am grateful beyond words. May my own life be a reflection of what I hope for others to see. And please say a prayer for him, and for those who will be so terribly lost without him.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Fire strikes -- and so do looters
The Humboldt Fire started near Chico, where Tony works, last Wednesday and many of his company's employees had to evacuate their homes near Paradise.
It has been devastating to watch the news, see the map, and read the comments by worried friends and family. Our home is 50 miles to the north and west, so we were not threatened by this one. But everyone who lives in California fears wildfires, as well they should.
There were 74 homes destroyed by this fire; cause at this point unknown. Thousands of firefighters from throughout California assisted the battle to contain it. Hundreds of people were evacuated and sheltered and fed by volunteers and good people.
And last night on the news there was this report about looters. Today, Tony discovered that one of his colleagues was a victim, and that his insurance company only covers $5K caused by theft. The guy -- a young man with a family -- did not lose his home to fire, but lost its contents to thieves who took advantage of his absence and stole everything: tools, toys -- everything.
How do people lose ethics? Did they never have them in the first place? What corrupts a person, causes them to compound a terrible event into an even more incomprehensible act?
Tony's colleague did not realize that others had also been looted, so he perhaps can find some company with his misery, and perhaps they all can work towards a solution, towards regaining some of the stolen merchandise.
I'm 60 years old. And I don't think I'm particularly naive. But this just blows me away -- sort of like the guy I wrote about a few days ago baffles me with his nastiness and mean spirit -- only these thieves are even lower than that on the ethics and decency scale. They kicked people when they were down, walked away and left them gasping. And didn't look back. That is the true tragedy in this.
It has been devastating to watch the news, see the map, and read the comments by worried friends and family. Our home is 50 miles to the north and west, so we were not threatened by this one. But everyone who lives in California fears wildfires, as well they should.
There were 74 homes destroyed by this fire; cause at this point unknown. Thousands of firefighters from throughout California assisted the battle to contain it. Hundreds of people were evacuated and sheltered and fed by volunteers and good people.
And last night on the news there was this report about looters. Today, Tony discovered that one of his colleagues was a victim, and that his insurance company only covers $5K caused by theft. The guy -- a young man with a family -- did not lose his home to fire, but lost its contents to thieves who took advantage of his absence and stole everything: tools, toys -- everything.
How do people lose ethics? Did they never have them in the first place? What corrupts a person, causes them to compound a terrible event into an even more incomprehensible act?
Tony's colleague did not realize that others had also been looted, so he perhaps can find some company with his misery, and perhaps they all can work towards a solution, towards regaining some of the stolen merchandise.
I'm 60 years old. And I don't think I'm particularly naive. But this just blows me away -- sort of like the guy I wrote about a few days ago baffles me with his nastiness and mean spirit -- only these thieves are even lower than that on the ethics and decency scale. They kicked people when they were down, walked away and left them gasping. And didn't look back. That is the true tragedy in this.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Responsible continued...
Part 2....
Oh, I know how simplistic that sounds. But I don't know how to change anyone else. I only know how to change myself, and how to live with right intention and right action (even when I don't do it, I know how -- and not doing something is a CHOICE, even if it is made without thinking it through.)
I know, for instance, that our local mentoring program is one of those ways in which we individually can acknowledge our responsibility for helping children grow in positive directions.
There are programs to help persons who are poor or homeless, battered, abused, sick, disabled, challenged in some way. Every single one of those programs needs time from volunteers and money to keep the programs going.
We all need human touch, human kindness and compassion to be able to grow and develop into fully functioning, responsible, caring human beings. Most of us are lucky to find that through family or friends or even groups (sometimes family is not a positive influence).
But when we give back, we benefit too. We become better than we might otherwise be. We learn things about ourselves, and we touch people's lives. OUR lives are touched and changed, and we find hope. Even a shred of it can keep you going in a dark world.
Oh, how idealistic. I know.
But isn't it better than doing nothing? Than blaming the gun seller, the poetry teacher, the students, the university itself for what happened in Virginia and tsk-tsking over yet another tragedy and everyone's failure to notice this disturbed young man? Let's make a difference however, wherever we can. Here. Now.
Oh, I know how simplistic that sounds. But I don't know how to change anyone else. I only know how to change myself, and how to live with right intention and right action (even when I don't do it, I know how -- and not doing something is a CHOICE, even if it is made without thinking it through.)
I know, for instance, that our local mentoring program is one of those ways in which we individually can acknowledge our responsibility for helping children grow in positive directions.
There are programs to help persons who are poor or homeless, battered, abused, sick, disabled, challenged in some way. Every single one of those programs needs time from volunteers and money to keep the programs going.
We all need human touch, human kindness and compassion to be able to grow and develop into fully functioning, responsible, caring human beings. Most of us are lucky to find that through family or friends or even groups (sometimes family is not a positive influence).
But when we give back, we benefit too. We become better than we might otherwise be. We learn things about ourselves, and we touch people's lives. OUR lives are touched and changed, and we find hope. Even a shred of it can keep you going in a dark world.
Oh, how idealistic. I know.
But isn't it better than doing nothing? Than blaming the gun seller, the poetry teacher, the students, the university itself for what happened in Virginia and tsk-tsking over yet another tragedy and everyone's failure to notice this disturbed young man? Let's make a difference however, wherever we can. Here. Now.
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