It's her birthday today

She is loathed to tell people now. They all give her this sad look and she has to remind them that the terrorists could have picked their birthday, but they picked hers.

It's not the first birthday she's had that turned into something horrible. She was 15 and waiting at home with our mother for my father and me to arrive. He was coming home from work and I was driving home from a tutor I employed to help me pass my math class. It was then we’d have our celebration.

As I was driving in my parent's little white VW Rabbit I noticed the cars on the right hand lane stopping. Then I saw a guy from the right hand lane backing into my lane.

WTF? I was upon him, sliding into his blind spot with my little car. I swerved to miss him, taking my car into the median. Then I swerved back into my lane, just in time for my lights to hit a bundle lying in the road.

I knew what it was. It looked like every scare film ever shown to us in Driver’s Ed. The bundle was a human body and I couldn’t avoid it. I can still recall every sickening bump as first one, then another, then the third, then the last tire went up upon the body then down.

I was 18, this was 28 years ago. I still remember.

I remember trying to pull my car out of the way of riding over this person. It didn’t work and my efforts actually caused the car to drive over him diagonally.

I remember screaming as I went over the body and then gathering my wits enough to brake the car just before it crossed out of the median and into on coming traffic. I even remembered to put on the hazard lights.

I remember stepping out of the car seeing the body and seeing another car drive over him. A suburban caught him and dragged him for a few feet as if he were a sack of potatoes. I screamed.

Then the cars stopped, there had been three others besides me who drove over him, I was the first. And people ran to his aid trying to pick him up. My first aid training kicked in just enough to yell to them “don’t move him.” And surprisingly they listened.

I went to the only pay phone on the street, a topless bar, to call my parents.

The rest of the night was spent with the police, and with my family to comfort me.

Before the accident the man I drove over had been kicked out of the topless bar. He had been too high and too drunk for them to serve. He then walked across 3 lanes of traffic and into the door of a car in the far right lane traveling east, and had fallen into my lane.

The car that he had walked into was the one backing into my lane. Trying to keep cars from driving over him. But I, in my little white Rabbit, slipped past all that.

The victim died.

No charges were filed against anyone.

I went through a lot of counseling.

I was allowed to heal.

But I can still remember every painful detail. I can still put myself back to that day. It doesn’t take much and I long ago surrendered to the fact that it would always be so.

The wound is not raw. It was not raw seven years after the event. It had healed.

Twenty one years later, on the exact same day, two planes would hit the World Trade Center in New York City, one plane would hit the Pentagon and the last plane would go down in a field in Pennsylvania.

I know where I was when the phone rang and I was told to turn on the tv. I know what I said to my husband who was the person on the other end of the phone. I know how I felt when I saw the towers come down.

Many in Massachusetts knew someone on one of the planes and/or people working at the WTC complex. So did we.

The planner of this horrible day that left 3,000 dead and hundreds of thousands scared for life has roamed free. Even when he was cornered, we let him go – leading many in the world to wonder if his freedom and likeness weren’t been used for political gain.

The day itself has been taken from a time of solemn reflection it should have been. A day to look at, remember, and congratulate ourselves for living past and through – It is now a political display, a horrific orgy of death and destruction to scare us into submission. They say “to remind us of what happened,” as if we’d ever forget.

Instead of allowing us to heal and move on, the wound is picked open every year, and every day during elections. Today feels like a million pounds of ick on a stick, a day you curse the sun for even daring to shine. To continue down this path is sickness and madness.

We have not been allowed to heal.

We have not been allowed to move on.

We have not been allowed to be healthy.

And if we allow the same political party to continue to use 9-11 as a political tool and to win with, we never will.

28 years ago today there was a car accident

7 years ago today there was a terrorist attack

Just as I can never forget the events of that day 28 years ago, we will never forget the events 7 years ago. We don’t need the constant fear, the constant the opening of wounds that should be healed or close to healing by now.

We will always honor this day and hold it sacred.

But some day, this day, will once again hold celebrations of life. A time when those born on this day will not hide their birthday. There will be a time when the sun will not be cursed for shining.

For any other event, any other death isn’t seven years of mourning, or being stuck “in” the event, of being forced to stay in the event, considered enough and even unhealthy?

Wouldn’t those who died that day want us to move on and live?

crossposted at Dailykos

9-11, 9-11, scare, scare ,scare, fear, fear, fear

Happy Birthday sis! One good thing happened today, you were born!

I really can't add anything that hasn't been said on Dailykos here and here, Americablog, Pandagon, etc.

Ryan Adams music video "New York, New York", shot September 7, 2001 (embedding has been disabled for this video)

Today is my sister's birthday

Yes, 40 years ago today, long before 9-11 meant something horrible, my little sister was born. Six years before her birth my cousin was born on 9-11. This day, for my family, has meant life.

The worst thing that happened before 9-11 became 9-11, was a traffic accident I had on my sister's 15th birthday. A guy so drunk and high that he actually got kicked out of a stipper bar walked across 3 lanes of traffic on a major throughfare and into a car heading east. He then fell into my lane and I couldn't stop in time, I drove over him. So did three other cars behind me. He died. I was 18, I'm now 43 and it still haunts me.

I apologized to her for ruining her birthday, as if I could have done anything to stop that series of events. I just wanted to let her know that I felt bad that her day had been made so painful. On 9-11-2001 I called her again to tell her I was sorry that her birthday had been made so painful. Again, as if I could have done anything to stop the series of events that were transpiring on our tv screens. I was in Boston, she 2,000 miles away.

Now she won't even tell anyone when her birthdate is, for every time she does she get's the same sorrowful reaction.

When we were kids we used to envy the girl next door, she was born on July 4th. Her birthdays always seemed magical, like the whole country was celebrating just for her. How sad it is then to have your birthday on a day when the nation weeps.

I sent her a box of Godiva Chocolates this year. I figured they would help "40" go down easier. But as luck would have it, I didn't know she was leaving for a vacation 3 days prior to her birthday. The box of chocolates now sits with my mother, waiting my sister's return. Where did she go for her vacation? Why Florida, of course!

I've been watching Ophelia make all it's twists and turns. Now that it won't hit Florida, if it doesn't hit the Carolinas it may hit us! http://www.nhc.noaa.gov/refresh/graphics_at1+shtml/144640.shtml?3day

This blog won't always be for politics.

For today, as I remember with other Americans the horror of this day, and the lives lost, I will also think of my sister and all the lives that begin today. And after my tears and reflections, I will celebrate, the living deserve that too, and I won't give that to the terrorists.

Tribute to the victims of 9-11 http://www.cantcryhardenough.com
Blue Man Group's tribute http://www.exhibit13.com/
Muslim tribute to 9-11 in music! http://thisisislam.islamacademy.com/
Listing of all those who lost their lives 9-11-2001
http://www.legacy.com/dallasmorningnews/Sept11.asp

If there are more musical tributes on the web please let me know in the comment section. Thanks

The Paradox of Our Time

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints.

We spend more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy it less. We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time; we have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment;
more experts, but more problems; more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry too quickly, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too seldom, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life; we’ve added years to life, not life to years.

We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor. We’ve conquered outer space, but not inner space. We’ve done larger things, but not better things.

We’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We’ve split the atom, but not
conquered our prejudice. We write more, but learn less.

We plan more, but accomplish less. We’ve learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information to produce more copies than ever, but have less communication.

These are the times of fast food and slow digestion; tall men, and short character; steep profit, and shallow relationships. These are the times of world peace, but domestic warfare; more leisure, but less fun; more kinds of food, but less nutrition.

These are the days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes. It is a time when there is much in the show window and nothing in the stockroom; a time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or just hit delete.

George Carlin