It took a while, but last fall Thomas Fiffer—who witnessed the Twin Towers exploding—finally made peace with the past and moved on.
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Ordinarily on this day, I would reprise my 9/11 posts, “A Moment of Silence” and “Mem’ry’s Haze,” to mark the event’s 12th anniversary.
But I awoke today in a different frame of mind.
I actually, for the first time, didn’t remember that today was that day.
And that, for me, was extraordinary.
I had thought about it briefly on Monday, looking at my calendar, noting the approach of the 11th.
And I was down in lower Manhattan yesterday, within steps of the Memorial, for a client visit.
But this morning, it didn’t hit me.
I didn’t instantly feel the drop, the onset of solemn mood, the rush of emotion followed by the hush of the soul.
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I didn’t instantly feel the drop, the onset of solemn mood, the rush of emotion followed by the hush of the soul. I didn’t re-experience the unimaginable loss and unbearable grief. I didn’t revisit the forever-altered landscape or feel the perpetual need to acknowledge. I didn’t automatically adopt the respectful posture of commemoration.
I just didn’t think about it.
It didn’t hit me until I stood on the platform, took off my jacket, and remarked to myself, it’s hot for September, then remembered a much cooler September day with a cloudless blue sky and no hint of the horror to come.
Aware now, I paused.
I reflected.
Not on the past, but on my distance from it.
On its fading relevance.
On the diminution of its power over me.
Don’t get me wrong, please.
I am not making light of 9/11. Rather, I am marveling at the cumulative, healing impact of time.
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I am not making light of 9/11.
Rather, I am marveling at the cumulative, healing impact of time.
I am finding both peace and solace in my ability to move on, to recall without dwelling, to visit without getting stranded, to touch without getting burned, to don my suit and take a dip in the ocean of memory and not experience the awful sinking, the dreadful dragging down.
The same thing happened, years earlier, with the loss of my father.
After a year or so, I no longer awoke to the shocking slap of his death shattering my dreams that it never happened.
And life suddenly seemed brighter.
And after a number of years, I forget how many, the anniversary of his death ceased being an open doorway to a room full of grief and became instead a window through which to squint steely-eyed at loss and bring cherished memories back into focus.
So it is with 9/11.
I don’t care to relive it anymore.
I won’t repost or even reread my old posts.
I’ll ignore the annual Facebook outpouring.
I won’t turn on the news.
I feel … not free of 9/11 … but finally, after all this time … unburdened.
Originally published on the Tom Aplomb blog.
Photo—Alice Popkorn/Flickr
Wonderfully written Thomas.
Captured yr new state of mind so well
This is exactly the article I needed to see today. Right on!
Thanks, Andrew. I’m glad you found it.