Fourteen years after 9/11 I woke up not realizing it’s the day. I did not feel sad. I did not remember it’s September 11. I woke up as if it’s any other day.
When I think about it, I feel tears start to develop, but they don’t come. It’s matured grief. But it does not make my day less productive or less happy than other days. I have come a long way.
Maybe it’s in part because I’ve just passed through 12 weeks of moving hardship met with one conflict after another. I feel more settled and am happy with my new home. I am also happy with the relationships that have been building lately. My cough has also subsided for the most part with only an occasional clearing of the throat. And I’m able to concentrate again at work.
I can still cry at the thought of the thousands of people dying at the World Trade Center, and I still feel gloomy if I let my mind wander. But with the idea that I might help others who suffer with PTSD, I find determination and purpose and the gloom goes away.
I didn’t think I would actually cry today. But during a break from working, I looked at my personal email and read an email from IAVA (Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America). I know what it’s like to be forgotten, to lay down one’s life for others and for betterment of the world, yet feel like slipping through cracks without support. Every little bit of support helps provide strength and hope. Click here to read the message.