Pulling it Together

I am anxious about September 11, 2011. I think it's best to just admit it because not admitting it hasn't made my anxiety go away.

Way back at the beginning of 2011 I told Sam that I wanted to make sure we did something together, as a family, and preferably quiet and outdoors to mark the 10th anniversary of the terror attacks. We had decided we didn't want to go back to New York on that day and I had envisioned an easy family hike in a state park near our house. But then, several months ago, Sam agreed to teach in the local Religious (Sunday) School and I signed Nora up for the Early Childhood program at the synagogue and then we found out the first day for both would be on Sunday, September 11th. I wasn't happy about it and I'm still not happy about it, but it is important to me that I try as much as possible not to pass on my anxiety to Nora. I want religious school to be a good experience for her and having a basket-case of a mother on the first day won't help.

Then, on Tuesday of this week, I attended the Morning Meeting that is held daily at the school where I work. I don't go every day, but I had some announcements I needed to make. I was unprepared for a teacher to get up on the stage and read the entirety of a Peggy Noonan column from September 2008 about how people had moved on from "September 11th." Tears streamed down my face, my pulse quickened, I looked towards the exits -- I couldn't get out without causing a stir. I was not crying because the column made me sad, I could barely hear the words being read; I was crying because just the thought of September 11th destroyed me. I realized how fragile I still was. And I realized how far from New York I was.

No one in New York would get up on a stage, surrounded by 200 teenagers and read an article about how someone else was processing September 11th. If nothing else New Yorkers pride themselves on being there and living to tell their own tale, not someone else's. So I cried.

And I cried because I realized holding it together for Nora's benefit on the first day of religious school was going to be harder, not easier, than as I had hoped. And I cried because in many ways, I needed to cry. I needed to weep for what happened on that day, for what I saw. But I also knew that being strong for Nora was, if not more important, more urgent. And that, I will admit, made me mad. Not at her, and not because I had her, but because the double edge sword of being a mom meant there was something more important than my very real need to cry.

I handed my announcements to my boss and told him he could make them if he wanted. I left the meeting as soon as it was dismissed.

The next day, Wednesday, was the beginning of the big rains here. I happened to be in our lower school when buses started coming early to pick up students who lived far away. I will not go into too much detail because it is not fair, but I will say there was a basket case of a parent and two basket cases of children who were all responding, in my opinion, completely inappropriately to the fact that school was getting out early due to the threat of flooding (which, to be fair, turned out to be a very real threat). It was then that it hit me with certainty that it is now my very real responsibility NOT to be a basket case. I wasn't at all angry about this like I had been the day before. Watching what I saw transpire in that hallway convinced me, and left no room for pouting (which is essentially what I had been doing the day before), that while I may have very real feelings of loss and sadness wrapped up in that day and this anniversary, I can make time to honor them on my own.

Am I upset that Sam can't take Nora to her first day of religious school and let me have some time on my own? Sure. Am I upset the first day had to be that day? Yes. But now I know that tomorrow, at least from 9:45am - Noon, I am "Nora's mother," not "former New Yorker" and I will not be a basket case. I'm not sure I can stay true to that, but I know I need to try.