by Amy Zidell
Posted 09.12.01
What could I say that would be of any value regarding the attack on America? Who am I? I read a commentary on-line from a columnist for a major publication who devoted their column to complaining about security at our nation's airports. Monday morning quarterbacking isn't going to help anyone. I'm no security expert, but clearly new procedures will be put in place. Indeed while the nation, if not most of the world feels the impact of this terrorist attack, the victims, survivors their families and friends have personally been visited by terrorism. I've been personally visited by terrorism too. In my case it was domestic terrorism. My experiences of persevering through that might offer some counsel to someone who hasn't had such a personal experience before.
Even if you were not a victim, survivor, family or friend of one, the fact is that America was attacked. That means all of us were. As Thomas Jefferson said, "Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty." After my personal experience I resented the truth of this statement and the need for it. Do more than accept these wise words, embrace them.
If our complacency let our guard down, that won't happen again. If the pendulum of the environment of political correctness has swung to the point where the fear of offending someone supersedes ones instincts, and personal and public safety, that won't happen again. It is true what doesn't kill us makes us stronger.
Tremendous reward is found in overcoming adversity. Survival is empowering. In the whole scheme of things, you will realize, when the numbness fades away, that so many matters that possessed you before will clearly be seen in their full triviality. Phone solicitors, bad drivers, difficult co-workers, a soap opera love life, a complicated relationship with your father in reality miniscule items that don't show up in the big picture. America, all Americans, and all freedom loving people will be emboldened by making it through to the other end of this assault and its impact.
Just about two years ago I was stunned and terrified when my six-year-old nephew was shot at the Jewish Community Center Summer Camp in Granada Hills. Stunned by the unbelievability of the attack by a 45-year-old man who opened fire on the children and others at the Center. Tuesday, after my friend, who recently moved from Southern California to the Virginia area, called me at 6:30 in the morning and told me to turn on the news, I was stunned again - like after seeing reports about the Oklahoma City bombing. The numbness, sadly familiar.
Yet of course there are differences. This time, I could not rush to the scene in action mood. That time, I can't precisely recall how I altered my southbound direction on the 405 freeway to northbound. In a blur of adrenaline induced autopilot actions I gathered bits and pieces of information via cell phone while rushing to Granada Hills. I contacted my parents and filled them in on what I knew. Security was extremely tight. I talked my way, showing identification, past security blockades. That time, when the hospitals could and would not release any information I rephrased questions enough different ways, with enough vagueness so that I could put information I had from my brother's office with vague answers from the hospital to determine which hospital my nephew had been taken to. It happened to be my first guess. That time, I could blaze into the hospital entry displaying multiple picture id's forcing myself to be calm enough to articulate clearly who I was and who I needed to find and not frighten anyone along the way. That time, once past one more check point I steeled myself as I walked into the emergency room. I did not want my face to reflect the terror and fear I was feeling. That time, I wanted to, I needed to be strong for my nephew and my family. This time, we all must be strong for our Country. That time, my nephew looked so small, so tiny on the gurney. I patted my sister-in-law on the shoulder. That time, I saw detectives talking to my nephew and taking notes. That time, I heard my nephew's small voice ask the detectives, "Is the bad man going to get me?"
That time, I don't remember the vacuous pit instantaneously forming in my stomach, I was too numb. That time, I greeted my brother before the detective took him aside to speak. That time, I stood next my to nephew and gazed at him past a strong smile with a hidden sense of wonder and a desperate need for confirmation of simply him. It's the same gaze that my brother and sister-in-law directed toward their youngest child. That time, I could see him and I could be there, an immovable force there to be as much a mother bear as I could possibly be. This time, many people are not able to get the smallest bit of information about their loved ones. That time, balloons fashioned from inflated surgical gloves decorated with faces and doodles shared gurney space with my nephew. That time, my parents had arrived and my brother's strong facade broke momentarily as he engulfed our mother in a hug. That time, my sister-in-law left with a detective to pick up my other nephew that was also at camp during the shooting and was at an off-site location. That time, I flanked my nephew's gurney, as if attached, as a nurse wheeled him to his room while a doctor reviewed information with my brother and my parents.
That time, the nurse unloaded her feelings of dismay, numbness and disbelief to me. That time, the nurse spoke about police officers breaking down in tears having never witnessed such a crime before. That time, the nurse needed whatever counsel I could offer her during the few minutes we meandered through hospital hallways. That time, I was strong for everyone. This time, we must be strong for each other. That time, after various family members arrived at the room we learned that, within a matter of small portions of an inch, miraculously my nephew suffered no nerve, bone or vessel damage. That time, everything would be okay. That time, everything changed. This time, everything changed again.
This time, we saw repeatedly the images of the attack and its aftermath. This time, our country was under siege. This time, we watched helplessly as before our eyes fellow Americans perished. This time, I see unbelievability again. The mere fact that these events happened is of course testimony that they are all too real and therefore are believable. This time, the mind has a difficult task wrapping around the concept of Tuesday's tragedy.
This time, we wait until we strike and the collective need to action, to do something, will bring a type of relief. This time, I know the numbness will give way to other feelings after time. This time, I know the pins and needles, which feel more like nails and screws, in my stomach will go away after awhile. This time, I know that as much as I am not hungry, I must eat. This time, I know that we all will overcome. We can and we will. This time, I know we can build back stronger, better - not just buildings but psyche and resolve. This time, I again find solace in the fact that a tragedy did not spur me to realize the importance of each day but reinforces it. This time, I'm reminded life is too important, too precious to waste its energy on pettiness.
This time, I know that a person can only process so much trauma without it effecting them some way. This time, I know that days, weeks, months away a seemingly unrelated set back can be the trigger for a revisit of the acute feelings of today or an exacerbation of them. Knowledge is power. Knowing what was helps me understand what is and what will be. This time I am prepared.
This time, there is great resolve to irrefutably, completely, unquestioningly, convincingly fight the good fight. This time, it's not a matter of those people in another country, or that isolated case in another state, or people that are Jewish. This time, our unity focuses. This time, I know: When we reach for justice, we are all the same.
Read First | Articles | Contact Copyright © 1995 - 2004 Amy Zidell. All rights reserved. No portion of the contents of this Web Site, including but not limited to, any articles, images or material appearing on or posted on the Web Site may be republished, redisseminated, transmitted, distributed or duplicated in any manner without Amy Zidell's prior written consent.