Still Thinking About It
Rob went to Manhattan yesterday. He's written a journal entry about it. I was glad to read it, even though it's very hard to bear the details.
I understood why he had to go. I live probably less than 5 miles from Rob, and I've been thinking of going to New York myself. I don't think anyone else would want to go with me, though, and I admit I am afraid to go alone. Not afraid of the city -- not even the city the way it is now -- more afraid that I would get down there and become so overwhelmed by all of it that it would be hard to get home again. I don't want to go alone.
Still, with the site of unspeakable horror less than 100 miles from my front door, it somehow seems irresponsible and disrespectful not to go. I'm still thinking about it.
Looking back over my entries for the last few days, I realize that they might seem disengaged with recent events. Does that mean I'm not thinking about it? No. How could I not be thinking about it? How am I supposed to stop? Lynda wrote an interesting journal entry about this feeling. I think she's right, too: we are all at different places on that spinning wheel of grief.
It's important to remember that what we see on other people's web pages or faces doesn't reflect even a fraction of the things they are feeling. And just because we hold on to the small pleasures of life, it doesn't mean we're forgetting how things have changed, and what we've lost.
I'm still thinking about it. I bet you are too.
Rob went to Manhattan yesterday. He's written a journal entry about it. I was glad to read it, even though it's very hard to bear the details.I understood why he had to go. I live probably less than 5 miles from Rob, and I've been thinking of going to New York myself. I don't think anyone else would want to go with me, though, and I admit I am afraid to go alone. Not afraid of the city -- not even the city the way it is now -- more afraid that I would get down there and become so overwhelmed by all of it that it would be hard to get home again. I don't want to go alone.
Still, with the site of unspeakable horror less than 100 miles from my front door, it somehow seems irresponsible and disrespectful not to go. I'm still thinking about it.
Looking back over my entries for the last few days, I realize that they might seem disengaged with recent events. Does that mean I'm not thinking about it? No. How could I not be thinking about it? How am I supposed to stop? Lynda wrote an interesting journal entry about this feeling. I think she's right, too: we are all at different places on that spinning wheel of grief.
It's important to remember that what we see on other people's web pages or faces doesn't reflect even a fraction of the things they are feeling. And just because we hold on to the small pleasures of life, it doesn't mean we're forgetting how things have changed, and what we've lost.
I'm still thinking about it. I bet you are too.
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