Never Forget

It has been a strange and odd week, and an even stranger day today, on September 11.

Here at Notre Dame, there is much excitement in the air, as the Fightin' Irish prepare to take on perhaps their biggest rival, the University of Michigan Wolverines (although, really, isn't everyone their biggest rival?  It sure seems that way).  I can't help but post this video clip from one of my all-time favorite shows, The West Wing:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6F1RrKDNlbE, demonstrating the "importance" of this game, fought between the two winning-est college football teams.

Much more importantly, however, we solemnly recall the anniversary of the tragic events of Sept. 11, 2001.  I do not need to recount, in this space, what occurred on that day, here in the United States of America.  Each year, we witness memorials to that event, as this country remembers those who lost their lives on that day.

This year, there are two other events swirling around that directly effect one's emotional state of mind.  There has been an ongoing battle regarding whether it is right and appropriate to erect a mosque on the rather hallowed area called "Ground Zero", where the twin towers and several other buildings went down on that fateful day.  And, in response, there is the threat by a southern Pastor and his 50 member "church" to burn the Qur'an.  This threat is causing all sorts of responses worldwide--most in anger and opposition. Not only are devout Muslims protesting his threat; but also, most faithful Christians, who see it as a foolish act which will accomplish nothing good and only serve to further escalate the violent and unjustified actions by extremist Muslims throughout the world.  I am concerned for my students in Egypt, lest they get caught up in some sort of protest that turns anti-American.  It is not as if any of them have any connection to either of these two events.  It matters not in this turbulent world.  Most people who are injured or lose their lives to terrorism are totally innocent--they are neither combatants nor politicians responsible for policy.  

In the midst of all of this, I find I am rather in a quandary today.  Obviously, I cannot wait to watch the Irish tear apart the Wolverines.  But I remember back to that day in 2001.  Every adult remembers where he or she was when the news of the the attacks was announced.  I remember actually having to go to work after that point and, as a Realtor, show property!  I was stunned when the clients still insisted on going out, because it felt as if it was a day of national mourning, not to mention utter shock.  I remember that all airplanes were grounded across the country, and I shuddered a bit the first time I saw a commercial airliner in the skies again, a week or so later.  I recall the nervousness and anxiety I felt the first time I boarded a plane after those horrific events. Sporting events were cancelled across the country and late night talk shows gave way to ongoing news reports.  It did not seem at all appropriate to watch some silly, flippant comedian commenting on insignificant events.  They, themselves, realized this and opted to remain off the air for some time.  It was a long time before things returned to normal, although I believe that we have never really returned to whatever constituted normal prior to September 11, 2001.

However, I would argue that, in a way that is, perhaps, impossible to avoid, we have "forgotten."  I don't mean that in the sense that we don't remember what happened.  What we cannot recall, nor hang onto, are the powerful emotions that we all experienced during those horrible days.  Shock, sorrow, agony, grief, astonishment, disbelief, rage, resolve, and, yes, even intense hatred. Psychologically, it is probably impossible to recall those emotions such that we feel them in the same way as we did nine years ago.  I think that is what allows us to move forward. Still, it somehow seems inappropriate, in the midst of all that is happening, to be excited about a football game.  

However, if we do mire ourselves in those sorts of attitudes and emotions, I suppose life would not go on.  Next to the events of September 11, everything in my daily life and around me seems so insignificant. Clearly, it is not right, nor helpful to sit in a chair in a dark room and mourn and grieve and ponder those events for the rest of our lives.  Life has to go on.  But we do have to remember, and we need to find ways that resurrect, if only for a moment, some of those feelings and emotions we experienced on that day.  By doing so, we retain our unwavering resoluteness to, as much as is possible, right the wrongs that occurred that day.  The lives can never be brought back, but we must never fail to honor them.  Their sacrifice can never take a back seat.

I have pondered the two issues--the burning of the Qur'an and the building of the Mosque.  I am opposed to that idiotic pastor and his community's wish to go forward with this stupid and misguided idea.  However, I must defend, without exception or reservation, his right to freedom of expression.  That is what sets America apart from many countries. I think the guy is a right idiot, but the bigger wrong is to allow official or government intervention prohibiting his actions.  Our national clinging to personal rights and freedoms is, in one sense, why others sought to attack us; and they used those very rights and freedoms, which we see as sacred, against us.  I was horrified to find out that Saudi citizens came to our country, were admitted freely and then were taking flying lessons a mere 25 miles from where I was living so that they would know how to pilot a commercial airliner into the World Trade Center.  Does that mean we should close our borders to everyone? Does that mean we should corral all people in this country who arrived from the Middle East and deport them? Emotionally, I want to scream YES!!!! Quit letting people in that may do us harm!  Send the rest away, at least for now, because we cannot determine who is here to harm us and who is here innocently.  As a reasonable person, however, I realize that is not the right thing to do and to respond with extreme fear would do us, as a nation and a people, much more harm than good.  

As for the mosque...I do not believe it should be built there.  In the same way I do not believe any sane person should burn the Qur'an, I do not believe any sane person should build a mosque on what is considered hallowed ground. Both actions show intense disrespect and both actions are inciting hatred.  It does not HAVE to be done and, despite all claims, it will accomplish nothing positive and will only serve to further divisiveness amongst people.  I would claim that they have the right to build their center there, if they can purchase the land and get the permits, but, as I have said many times before, just because we have a right, it does not mean we have to take the opportunity. Having a right and doing the right thing--often two separate things.

Well, in the end, I am going to watch the ND/U of M football game today.  But I will not forget, and will go through great lengths to try and recall those very intense emotions that I felt on Sept. 11, 2001.  I'll continue to pray, most fervently, for those poor and innocent victims who tragically and horrifically lost their lives, and, most hopefully pray for some sort of peace in this world. I'm going to post a link to the Thomas More Law Center.  There is a video entitled "Lest We Forget".  I have seen many, many tributes to the victims of that day, but this one, at least for me, is the most powerful.  It is difficult to watch--with graphic pictures and sounds, but I believe we owe it to those who lost their lives that day to "remember".  http://www.thomasmore.org/default-sb_thomasmore.html?781316483.

I wish, most of all, that all of the battles in this world could be confined to the football field...

Visiting Cemeteries

Monday, Labor Day, I packed the dog in the car and made the two hour drive up to Grand Rapids, mainly for the purpose of visiting the cemetery.  It was the 3 year anniversary of the death of my mother, and, as I had the day off from work, felt inclined to go and visit.

I will admit, quite freely, that had it not been for one or two conversations with my mother prior to her death, I probably wouldn't make frequent visits to the cemetery.  However, every time I went home to visit, I waited for her to ask me to take her out there, so she could visit my father.  I never quite wrapped my head around why we had to drive all the way out there, almost always in the midst of a bleak, blustery, and frigid winter day.  When I looked up at the cold stone up at the top row of that mausoleum, I never felt the presence of my dad. Inevitably, while there, mom would say, quite wistfully, something akin to "When I'm gone, nobody will come here."  Nobody has ever been able to lay a guilt trip on me in quite the way my mother could.  So, of course, I try to get there several times a year.

I've been reflecting a lot on this tradition of cemetery visiting.  Frankly, it seems to be dying out...pardon the pun.  As a kid, I remember that the visit to the cemetery was an obligatory ritual.  My family in New Orleans has a massive, above ground tomb--as only New Orleans cemetery tombs can be, and my great grandparents stated that any family member could use it when the time came.  On Memorial Day, All Souls Day,  Independence Day, anniversaries of deaths, or any other sort of national holiday, I remember going with my grandparents, and my mother, out to the tomb.  It was a half day affair, while my grandmother and mother weeded the whole area, swept it, washed down the tomb, replaced dead flowers, and basically did housekeeping.  Given the time spent there, one could almost compare it to a vacation home (but not one I'm too anxious to visit anytime soon.)

I remember dreading those visits because, as a child, I was bored to tears. And, as most children would, I found it a little bit creepy and morose, spending all that time hanging about a cemetery.  However, in retrospect, I understand why it was so very important.  We honor our parents and grandparents while they are with us, and this is a way of doing so after they depart.  More importantly, on a personal level, I remember that there were always stories told during those hours.  If it hadn't been for those visits to the cemetery, I would probably know much, much less about my great grandparents, great uncles and aunts, cousins and all the many souls in my family who have found their final resting place in that massive tomb.

I do not believe that my mother and father are hanging about on the top row of the mausoleum up in Grand Rapids.  But I have come to be a bit more like my mother and my grandmother in regards to cemetery visiting.  The frustrating thing is that my parents did not opt for a grave below ground. They are, literally, high up in a wall.  Yesterday, when I arrived, it was cold and rainy.  Stupidly, I was attired in shorts and a t-shirt, and therefore, I sat in the car and stared at the stone, containing their names and their birth dates, and the dates of their deaths.  I did pray, and I admit to talking to them.  More so, I was moved to remember things about them and about our lives together as a family.  It is a good place to remember, honor and reminisce.  I guess, in the end, I'm grateful that I don't have to spend time weeding and cleaning the area around the tomb because I hate yard work as much as I hate death.  But there is something disturbingly untraditional about the wall.  I have this strange urge to want to touch the headstone, as if, somehow, that will bring me closer to my parents--but it is too high up and too far removed.  And yet, writing that now, it seems a silly concept, since I keep telling myself that they are not there.  I suppose it's human to have a need for the tactile--something to touch when the actual person is not there.

When I was in Louisiana back in July, I spent some time walking through a very old cemetery.  I was surprised to see graves going back to the early 1800s that were still cared for.  Some had flowers resting over the stone. Some had little civil war flags waving next to them, indicating, I suppose that the person had been a soldier.  But there were quite a few, as one would imagine, that had gone neglected for years.  There were, disturbingly, too many little graves, indicating the burial of small children or infants--something that was probably all too common during the 19th century.  Many of the stones were illegible, and I could not help but stand there, sadly, and wonder about the stories behind those graves.  There was nobody left to remember them, to tell stories, and to care for their tombs.  And yet, it was not too difficult to imagine the scene, much like the one from my own memory, of the spouses, parents and siblings, coming out and tending to the graves of their loved ones all those years ago, and desperately trying to find ways to reconnect with the one whom they lost.  Now that I am the cemetery visitor, I no longer think it is a silly thing and I regret that many of my own contemporaries don't seem to consider it an important tradition to continue.