The eighth anniversary of 9/11
September 12 2001, on this side of the world, I was on the Geelong freeway early, driving to work in Geelong. The radio news was telling a horrific story. Remember how stunned you were by those first bulletins?
I pulled off the freeway and drove into a MacDonald’s carpark rolling down the window to breathe, big gulps of air.
Alone in an empty fast food carpark somewhere on the road to Geelong, and nothing making sense.
Connection: rang Mottsu, woke him, still at home not needing to be on the road early. He hadn’t heard, couldn’t comprehend. The journalist in him wasn’t ignited. I remember the conversation… me looking for something to ground me again and him foggy and unmoved.
In my mind that day, that event, that conversation marks the start of the loss of Mottsu. It was two and a half more years before he left the world, this was my first glimpse he was leaving. He was on his way out.
Before he left he wrote “But for me, I don’t get involved in the flow, I stand back and watch every act of my day, minute by minute, evaluating what it is doing and seeing nothing of significance. I don’t seem to ‘connect’ into the world going on around me and am unable to ‘lose’ myself in it.”
Back on September 11 2001, it was possible to sense that sentiment already in him. Just for a moment. A troubling moment. I glimpsed something. It was nothing. I still remember it.
You’re right President Obama, there is an ache in my heart that hasn’t eased. May never ease, doesn’t need to ease.
I look up at the sky, and almost oddly there’s nothing odd to note 10,00 miles from NY. Step back into the car, wind the window up.
Breathe, keep breathing…
Drive, keep driving…
Ache
Offering insights into another’s feelings is a risky business. I cannot tell you what Mottsu’s depression was like. My own is all about a draining of energy. Of engagement. Of care. The border between life & death seems faint, inconsequential. Moving from one to other seems so easy, so without import.
You disappear inside. Swallowed by yourself. A black hole. Light cannot escape.
Your description is poignant – simple words that allow me to better glimpse what shelters in the shadows.
Deeply appreciated,
Anne
A, I just started to read your blog, it’s late here and i will shortly sleep but so very touched to have these coming pages to read and your words to float within. Thank you for writing – i have not read the whole blog but what I have seen has moved me in ways unexpected and welcomed.
thanks dear you,
hugs and love
Susan
Ah dear you Susan
All thanks to you for your beautiful words, so welcomed and greedily devoured making me warm inside xxxxxxx