This is a little love letter, to one of the coolest big sisters, of one of the best friends an outcast girl like me could have ever asked for. Because even though we were never close (you couldn't have called us friends even then) and we lost touch for too many years to count, some little thing called Facebook made us "friends". And for the past 5 years or so we have "liked" each other and we have commented on our lives and we have shared stories of how becoming Mom has shaped us. We got small glimpses into each others lives and got to gawk and awwww over the pictures we both posted. We watched our oldest girls turn from babies into toddlers into preschoolers. And we shared our joy at them becoming big sisters. We celebrated the milestones with a witty quip. We published the photographic memories of recent vacations. We saw our girls grow, all four of them, in pictures on a screen while in the comfort of our own homes. We were at the exact same season in life and loving it. We were raising little beings and hoping to shape them into productive, caring, worldly wise, big beings.
And then her, your, reality shifted.
My heart stopped the day that I read your post. I am sure that yours feels like it hasn't started beating again, even now. I read your post about the exact same moment you hit the enter button. Your sweet Alice had tragically passed away in her sleep during her afternoon nap. Ironically, my daughter was about 20 minutes into hers. I walked away from my computer, woke my youngest from a sound sleep and hugged her so tight I think she gasped. I can only imagine that you wish you could have done the same thing.
My heart broke for you that day. I cried silent tears and some not so silent. And I haven't stopped thinking of you since that moment. Yes, I think of your whole family. All of them, near and far because I can't imagine how this affects everyone. And so differently. But it is you that I think of most often. Because you are Mom. And so am I. And that puts us in a very unique club. A very special, magical one. Membership in that club gives us the ability to sympathize with each other when a child was up all night, advise each other when a child wouldn't even let a small piece of green pea pass their lips and yep, even complain to one another, about our children's behavior when they didn't fall in line. Mom is a great club to be a part of because there are so many members only too happy to help you out. But recently, you have joined another club. One I can't even fathom becoming a part of. Because while I am still able to parent two children here on earth you are forced to parent one of your children in heaven. And, for that, my heart shatters all over again.
I know there are no words. I know there is nothing I can do to help ease the pain. But there is one thing I can do and that is share. I can share the story about a beautiful sprite of a girl who was taken far too soon. And I can hope that maybe, just maybe, the story of Alice becomes an inspiration to others. I can hope that it will inspire us all to hold our children just a little tighter and longer than necessary. That maybe, just maybe, instead of shouting in frustration at a child moving too slow/not listening/misbehaving, we take the time for a deep breath and an extra hug. I think that is what Alice has taught me in the past 6 weeks. I can't wait to hear what she will teach you dear readers...
And to you, M,
Thank you. Thank you for sharing when you certainly didn't have to. You could have closed all of your memories and your moments tightly within your arms, shaken your fist to the heavens and said, you may have Alice, but you cannot have these. And you would have been well within your rights.
Thank you for giving us just a peek into what life was like with Alice. And what it is like now without her.
Thank you for being so strong, so brave and so unflinchingly honest. I truly hope you keep writing.
Because I will keep reading. And I will keep weeping. And I will keep loving you and your family and Alice. Because each and every time you post, it reminds me of all the blessings there are in this world.
And all the beautiful angels there are in heaven.
Please take a moment to read Melissa's first blog post. She is eloquent. She is heartbroken. She is a grieving mother. And she is strong. Oh. So. Strong. And the story of her beautiful angel should be read by everyone.
http://www.motheringinmemoriam.com/2013/09/17/thank-you-alice/
Showing posts with label Grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grief. Show all posts
Friday, September 20, 2013
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Have a Little Faith
My valentine (and he just cringed and I LOVE it) -
We have been through so much in the past 10 years. So much. A lot of it was good. A lot. It's been a fabulous ten years. Exciting and Fun. But not all of it. We have had our share of hard times. More than some people ever deal with in a lifetime, less than some deal with in a day. But I guess I don't worry about what others have been through as much as I worry about us. How we are weathering the storms that keep blowing through our lives? Because what matters to me is how we are staying afloat. How we are coping and dealing and living. It's all about us. I'm selfish that way. And I won't apologize for it. We learned early on in our relationship that it has to be about us, the life we are leading, the decisions we are making, the beliefs that we hold dear. This is our journey...ours alone.
And what a journey it has been!
We took our wedding vows in a small church on a snowy New Years Eve. At that point they almost seemed redundant. For in the first three years we had already been tested. We had shared our lives through good times and, not bad, but difficult. We had so many moments where we could have just given up. And didn't. And then, only then, we took those vows, chuckling a bit, because we thought we had seen it all in out time together... Naivete at it's best. Because fate stepped in. And it got tough. In the first 2 years we lived through sicknesses that had no business being in our young lives and, finally, we rejoiced in our health. We became richer, but not before we became poorer. We had the best of times and yet, we experienced loss like others just couldn't fathom. We comforted. We were comforted. We forsake all others and turned inward to heal. But through it all, the part I remember most of all, was that we were loved. By our families, that never let us down and didn't let us sink into the abyss. By our friends, who were always there by our sides. By each other. Forsaking all others. It was we who made it. We who struggled. We who fought. And then we fought our way back. We lived. We mourned. We laughed. And we shed more than our share of tears. But through it all, what I remember most, is that we loved.
In the end, I hope that is all that I remember.
This Valentine's day, a day we do not celebrate, I celebrate you. For having so much faith in me. In us. In our family. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
I. Love. You.
We have been through so much in the past 10 years. So much. A lot of it was good. A lot. It's been a fabulous ten years. Exciting and Fun. But not all of it. We have had our share of hard times. More than some people ever deal with in a lifetime, less than some deal with in a day. But I guess I don't worry about what others have been through as much as I worry about us. How we are weathering the storms that keep blowing through our lives? Because what matters to me is how we are staying afloat. How we are coping and dealing and living. It's all about us. I'm selfish that way. And I won't apologize for it. We learned early on in our relationship that it has to be about us, the life we are leading, the decisions we are making, the beliefs that we hold dear. This is our journey...ours alone.
And what a journey it has been!
We took our wedding vows in a small church on a snowy New Years Eve. At that point they almost seemed redundant. For in the first three years we had already been tested. We had shared our lives through good times and, not bad, but difficult. We had so many moments where we could have just given up. And didn't. And then, only then, we took those vows, chuckling a bit, because we thought we had seen it all in out time together... Naivete at it's best. Because fate stepped in. And it got tough. In the first 2 years we lived through sicknesses that had no business being in our young lives and, finally, we rejoiced in our health. We became richer, but not before we became poorer. We had the best of times and yet, we experienced loss like others just couldn't fathom. We comforted. We were comforted. We forsake all others and turned inward to heal. But through it all, the part I remember most of all, was that we were loved. By our families, that never let us down and didn't let us sink into the abyss. By our friends, who were always there by our sides. By each other. Forsaking all others. It was we who made it. We who struggled. We who fought. And then we fought our way back. We lived. We mourned. We laughed. And we shed more than our share of tears. But through it all, what I remember most, is that we loved.
In the end, I hope that is all that I remember.
This Valentine's day, a day we do not celebrate, I celebrate you. For having so much faith in me. In us. In our family. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
I. Love. You.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Tragedy
This morning I did what I do each week day morning. I heard my kids wake up and talk with each other before heading down the stairs to see if I was awake. They ran into my room and jumped on my bed, whispering their good mornings to me, because they know that Mommy needs her time to wake up. Mommy is not a morning person. They turned on the TV. Hit channel 8 and proceeded to watch about 20 minutes of Doctora Jugetes before I roused myself enough to get up. But I did get up and I put my contacts in, turned the alarm off and fed the dog. All with 4 little feet pattering after me and talking non-stop about what had happened between last night and this morning. {How can that much happen between bed time and morning???} We talked a bit as I poured their cereal and cut the fruit, only listening with one ear. I sat down with them to eat as I do every morning. And then I got annoyed. It was one of those mornings. The ones where they both wanted to do anything except eat their breakfast. Can we turn on the radio Mom? I want a hug Mommy. I need to pee Mama. Mommy, MadHatter looked at me sideways and I don't like it. Can I have more water? I just need to go upstairs and... It was like pulling teeth to just get breakfast down their throats. And get their teeth brushed and their lunch bags packed. I admit, I was looking forward to dropping them off at school. I just wanted some peace and quiet (especially since they had a rare day off yesterday and we had been home all day together). I was looking forward to some me time. Some time alone that I wasn't the one that had to fill up every moment of their day with something to do, or say.
I dropped them off, the hugs and kisses very perfunctory and drove home breathing a sigh of relief. Four hours until I had to be on again! Four hours of freedom! I walked the dog, ran on the treadmill, checked my facebook. I was starting to feel a bit less stressed.
And then I checked the news feeds.
The first thing I saw was a flash about a shooting in Connecticut. There wasn't much information available as it had just happened. And all of a sudden I wanted to go pick up my girls. I wanted a re-do of my morning. Could I just have a re-do? What if I never got a chance to listen with both ears about what happened in their dreams last night? What if I never got to listen to the two of them fighting over who looked at who sideways again? What if??? All I wanted was both of them home, safe and sound. Even though I knew they were safe, I couldn't get it out of my head that they might not be. Every single parent that dropped their child off at school this morning in Sandy Hook thought the same thing. And some of them may have had morning's like mine. With thoughts like mine. And, God forbid, they were never going to be able to have a re-do. They were never going to be able to do another drop off at Kindergarten and this time ask for just one more kiss. Or hold their child just a little tighter in that hug they asked for when trying to stall at breakfast. They were never going to get the chance that I will get again tomorrow morning.
And I am devastated by that.
In the past couple of hours my email and facebook have been inundated with prayers and posts and so many thoughtful messages from the people I am connected to in this world. The outpouring of love has been incredible. All directed towards a community of people they have never met and yet, are still a part of. Because we are all a part of the human race. And most are a part of the parenthood community. Universally, they posted their support. Their grief, their sadness. There were prayers. So many prayers. And it was heartening to see.
But many of them make mention of gun control and our lack of treatment for mental illness. And how we have failed our children. How we need to start doing, well, something. And I agree.
But today this isn't about gun control. Or mental illness. Or how we have failed our children. This isn't about one child, that grew up into a man, that took the lives of others. This isn't about what bureaucracy has done or what laws we should have passed or how we could have prevented something like this from happening. Today, this is about those innocent children. About all of the victims. Nothing more.
Don't get me wrong - it is SO about those things too - no matter which side of the debate you end up falling on - but today it isn't. It can't be. Today it has to be about those that were lost, young and old. Lives that were cut short. It is about those families that are now having to face a future without an integral part. It is about the children that will never fulfill their dreams; parents that will never see those dreams fulfilled. It is about the adults that left behind families that will now have to cope without a parent. It is about the brothers, that will grow up without sisters and the husbands that will be left without their wives. There are mothers and fathers that no longer have living children and will have to learn how to move in a world that is all but foreign to them now. Today, this is about them. Their stories. And we have to give them at least this one day.
Someday, in the future, we can talk about the politics of it all. The gun control. The psychological help that is lacking for those that need it. But for today, let's all just remember, most of these victims were babies. They didn't have an opinion on any of these things. They didn't have a chance to ever form those opinions. They were gunned down in a senseless act of violence. So, just for now, let's not talk about the person who did this. Let's not talk about whether his parents failed him, or he was failed by the system, or if stricter gun laws, or no gun laws, would have prevented this. For today, lets just remember that this is all about those that no longer have a voice. Let's hear their stories. Relish in their lives, no matter how short they may have been.
Let's give them a voice.
A remembrance fitting of their time here on earth.
I dropped them off, the hugs and kisses very perfunctory and drove home breathing a sigh of relief. Four hours until I had to be on again! Four hours of freedom! I walked the dog, ran on the treadmill, checked my facebook. I was starting to feel a bit less stressed.
And then I checked the news feeds.
The first thing I saw was a flash about a shooting in Connecticut. There wasn't much information available as it had just happened. And all of a sudden I wanted to go pick up my girls. I wanted a re-do of my morning. Could I just have a re-do? What if I never got a chance to listen with both ears about what happened in their dreams last night? What if I never got to listen to the two of them fighting over who looked at who sideways again? What if??? All I wanted was both of them home, safe and sound. Even though I knew they were safe, I couldn't get it out of my head that they might not be. Every single parent that dropped their child off at school this morning in Sandy Hook thought the same thing. And some of them may have had morning's like mine. With thoughts like mine. And, God forbid, they were never going to be able to have a re-do. They were never going to be able to do another drop off at Kindergarten and this time ask for just one more kiss. Or hold their child just a little tighter in that hug they asked for when trying to stall at breakfast. They were never going to get the chance that I will get again tomorrow morning.
And I am devastated by that.
In the past couple of hours my email and facebook have been inundated with prayers and posts and so many thoughtful messages from the people I am connected to in this world. The outpouring of love has been incredible. All directed towards a community of people they have never met and yet, are still a part of. Because we are all a part of the human race. And most are a part of the parenthood community. Universally, they posted their support. Their grief, their sadness. There were prayers. So many prayers. And it was heartening to see.
But many of them make mention of gun control and our lack of treatment for mental illness. And how we have failed our children. How we need to start doing, well, something. And I agree.
But today this isn't about gun control. Or mental illness. Or how we have failed our children. This isn't about one child, that grew up into a man, that took the lives of others. This isn't about what bureaucracy has done or what laws we should have passed or how we could have prevented something like this from happening. Today, this is about those innocent children. About all of the victims. Nothing more.
Don't get me wrong - it is SO about those things too - no matter which side of the debate you end up falling on - but today it isn't. It can't be. Today it has to be about those that were lost, young and old. Lives that were cut short. It is about those families that are now having to face a future without an integral part. It is about the children that will never fulfill their dreams; parents that will never see those dreams fulfilled. It is about the adults that left behind families that will now have to cope without a parent. It is about the brothers, that will grow up without sisters and the husbands that will be left without their wives. There are mothers and fathers that no longer have living children and will have to learn how to move in a world that is all but foreign to them now. Today, this is about them. Their stories. And we have to give them at least this one day.
Someday, in the future, we can talk about the politics of it all. The gun control. The psychological help that is lacking for those that need it. But for today, let's all just remember, most of these victims were babies. They didn't have an opinion on any of these things. They didn't have a chance to ever form those opinions. They were gunned down in a senseless act of violence. So, just for now, let's not talk about the person who did this. Let's not talk about whether his parents failed him, or he was failed by the system, or if stricter gun laws, or no gun laws, would have prevented this. For today, lets just remember that this is all about those that no longer have a voice. Let's hear their stories. Relish in their lives, no matter how short they may have been.
Let's give them a voice.
A remembrance fitting of their time here on earth.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
This Mortal Coil
James died today.
And he will probably die again tomorrow, and perhaps next week. Because, to the 4 1/2 year old mind, that is a possibility. {If you don't know the story of James - click on the very first word - it will give you the background you need}.
She has lost her Abuelo and her Great Grandma this year. Within 10 months of each other. One of them she loved through their visits on Skype {and love she did} and one she clung to each and every time she saw her. To a little girl, loving them and then losing them, is unfathomable. So she turns to James, the one that can fathom such a thing happening, and then she kills him off. I don't know how he died. I just know that his passing was sad. And she would really like to cry about it but doesn't think that he would want her too.
Sweet baby girl stop breaking my heart.
She talks about how when I am old and a Grandma she will take care of Stinkerbell because I have died too. I tell her that, in all probability, by the time I pass on Stinkerbell will be able to take care of herself. She isn't buying any of it {as evidenced by the 5 am visits to my room from that bad dream}. She keeps telling me it will be "a long, long, long, long time" before I die but that Sintkerbell will still need her. And that I am sure of. Because Stinkerbell will need her for the rest of her life. Even if she, too, is a grandmother. She tells me she will be a grandma by then..but I take that with a grain of salt because she also tells me that she will get married next year "wearing the dress that you wore when you married Papa, but I will have a veil". So she is a bride at 6, a mother at 10 and a grandmother at 12 in her world? That doesn't add up to "a long, long, long time" before I die using my old school math.
This little soul shouldn't have to wrestle with understanding these issues at such a tender age. She should be able to live carefree and not worry about when the next person she loves is going to be out of her life. Forever. But it is her reality. And as much as I don't like it for her, I also won't shield her from it.
Why, you ask? Why can't you just gloss over it until she is really old enough to understand it? To process it properly?
Because it is her reality.
And because it is her reality, it will become a part of her story. The story of her life. The one that she tells to her future husband when he asks where she came upon her empathy. The one she talks about when her friends ask why she is always available- even in the worst of situations. These will be the experiences she will draw upon when wondering whether to cancel the hot date she has tonight just because her college roommate has a bad boyfriend moment. {Of course, she cancels}. These are the things that will make her the friend she already is at 4, the intricate and caring woman that she will become at 20 and the mother that stays up late at night, without a thought in the world for herself, whenever her babies need her too. Because she knows that there are things that truly matter in our lives and being with the people we love, while they are still here, is one of them.
I do wish I could make this type of learning easier for her. The pain of losing someone that is dear is never easy. No matter our age. The heartache of having to go on and live each day without those we wish we could hold in our arms, just one more time, is something you don't ever get used to. The knowledge that no matter how good you are or how greatly you live your life, there are still things outside of your control. These are lessons that I am still struggling with and I am 10 times her age. It's not something I would wish for her. But it is something I am so proud of her for handling the way she has.
She has faith. She has strength. She has empathy. And she has the biggest heart of anyone I have ever met.
I just hope she knows how much she was loved by both of her grandparents. And by those of us still here on this mortal coil. And even after we have shuffled off...
Forever. You are loved.
*For those wondering how Stinkerbell is doing - she is great. She is still too young to understand any of this.
And he will probably die again tomorrow, and perhaps next week. Because, to the 4 1/2 year old mind, that is a possibility. {If you don't know the story of James - click on the very first word - it will give you the background you need}.
She has lost her Abuelo and her Great Grandma this year. Within 10 months of each other. One of them she loved through their visits on Skype {and love she did} and one she clung to each and every time she saw her. To a little girl, loving them and then losing them, is unfathomable. So she turns to James, the one that can fathom such a thing happening, and then she kills him off. I don't know how he died. I just know that his passing was sad. And she would really like to cry about it but doesn't think that he would want her too.
Sweet baby girl stop breaking my heart.
She talks about how when I am old and a Grandma she will take care of Stinkerbell because I have died too. I tell her that, in all probability, by the time I pass on Stinkerbell will be able to take care of herself. She isn't buying any of it {as evidenced by the 5 am visits to my room from that bad dream}. She keeps telling me it will be "a long, long, long, long time" before I die but that Sintkerbell will still need her. And that I am sure of. Because Stinkerbell will need her for the rest of her life. Even if she, too, is a grandmother. She tells me she will be a grandma by then..but I take that with a grain of salt because she also tells me that she will get married next year "wearing the dress that you wore when you married Papa, but I will have a veil". So she is a bride at 6, a mother at 10 and a grandmother at 12 in her world? That doesn't add up to "a long, long, long time" before I die using my old school math.
This little soul shouldn't have to wrestle with understanding these issues at such a tender age. She should be able to live carefree and not worry about when the next person she loves is going to be out of her life. Forever. But it is her reality. And as much as I don't like it for her, I also won't shield her from it.
Why, you ask? Why can't you just gloss over it until she is really old enough to understand it? To process it properly?
Because it is her reality.
And because it is her reality, it will become a part of her story. The story of her life. The one that she tells to her future husband when he asks where she came upon her empathy. The one she talks about when her friends ask why she is always available- even in the worst of situations. These will be the experiences she will draw upon when wondering whether to cancel the hot date she has tonight just because her college roommate has a bad boyfriend moment. {Of course, she cancels}. These are the things that will make her the friend she already is at 4, the intricate and caring woman that she will become at 20 and the mother that stays up late at night, without a thought in the world for herself, whenever her babies need her too. Because she knows that there are things that truly matter in our lives and being with the people we love, while they are still here, is one of them.
I do wish I could make this type of learning easier for her. The pain of losing someone that is dear is never easy. No matter our age. The heartache of having to go on and live each day without those we wish we could hold in our arms, just one more time, is something you don't ever get used to. The knowledge that no matter how good you are or how greatly you live your life, there are still things outside of your control. These are lessons that I am still struggling with and I am 10 times her age. It's not something I would wish for her. But it is something I am so proud of her for handling the way she has.
She has faith. She has strength. She has empathy. And she has the biggest heart of anyone I have ever met.
I just hope she knows how much she was loved by both of her grandparents. And by those of us still here on this mortal coil. And even after we have shuffled off...
Forever. You are loved.
*For those wondering how Stinkerbell is doing - she is great. She is still too young to understand any of this.
Friday, October 5, 2012
I hope there are bearskin rugs in heaven...
I don't have a lot of words. I don't know why. Because there is so much that I could say about this woman. My grandmother. But I don't think any of my words will do her justice. They can't tell you the intangibles. About her heart. Her love. The sound of her voice. Her courage. I can't tell you about how much she will be missed now that she is gone. They can't speak of the love that her children, her grandchildren and her great-grand-kids had for her. Especially my MadHatter, who thinks she hung the moon.
I am never at a loss for words. But here I am. Unfamiliar territory, so I am going to do what is familiar and put in some pictures...because they each say a thousand words that I can't seem to find. Maybe this way I can say all the things I wish I could.
I wish I could tell you about how much she loved her children. All five of them. So different in so many ways and yet together, they made the perfect family. They didn't have a lot growing up but they had each other. And to me, that makes them one of the richest families in the world.
I wish I could tell you about how much fun she was. She never lost her love of life or of children. She never lost her love of play. I can attest to that personally - as can both of my girls. I thank my lucky stars that they both got to see that side of her at such a young age (and that I got it on film for them to relive as they get older).
I wish I could tell you about the life she led, the struggles she fought and the triumphs that reigned supreme. I wasn't there but I heard the stories {oh, did I hear the stories :) }...
I wish I could tell you about the bear skin rug that we were supposed to have our picture taken on. Much to the chagrin of my entire family. It was a picture they never wanted to see. It was a picture that she and I would have proudly displayed in our homes. It was between her and I. An inside joke and one I am keeping dear to my heart for the rest of my days.
She was a fighter. Determined, stubborn, lovely. She was honest (sometimes brutally so), she was a spitfire, she was sociable. She was a mother. She was a friend. She was my grandmother. And she was loved. By her family. By her friends. By anyone that happened to make her acquaintance.
I hope there is a bearskin rug in heaven for you Grandma. Keep it warm for me. I promised you a picture. And a picture we will take.
I am never at a loss for words. But here I am. Unfamiliar territory, so I am going to do what is familiar and put in some pictures...because they each say a thousand words that I can't seem to find. Maybe this way I can say all the things I wish I could.
I wish I could tell you about how much she loved her children. All five of them. So different in so many ways and yet together, they made the perfect family. They didn't have a lot growing up but they had each other. And to me, that makes them one of the richest families in the world.
I wish I could tell you about how much fun she was. She never lost her love of life or of children. She never lost her love of play. I can attest to that personally - as can both of my girls. I thank my lucky stars that they both got to see that side of her at such a young age (and that I got it on film for them to relive as they get older).
I wish I could tell you about the life she led, the struggles she fought and the triumphs that reigned supreme. I wasn't there but I heard the stories {oh, did I hear the stories :) }...
I wish I could tell you about the bear skin rug that we were supposed to have our picture taken on. Much to the chagrin of my entire family. It was a picture they never wanted to see. It was a picture that she and I would have proudly displayed in our homes. It was between her and I. An inside joke and one I am keeping dear to my heart for the rest of my days.
She was a fighter. Determined, stubborn, lovely. She was honest (sometimes brutally so), she was a spitfire, she was sociable. She was a mother. She was a friend. She was my grandmother. And she was loved. By her family. By her friends. By anyone that happened to make her acquaintance.
She was mine. And I still can't believe I have to let her go...
 |
| Circa 1971. Grandma with my brother Spike on the left. My brother Chris in her right arm. And my Uncle Chuck (her youngest) squatting in front of her house. |
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| Her second oldest - Jim with Ruth and Chuck (her two youngest) |
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| The neighborhood. |
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| A picture of my grandparents at my wedding. |
At B and my wedding....she partied until the cows came home...
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| Her oldest son and his family. |
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| All of her kids in one spot... |
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| Grandma and her oldest son's entire family. |
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| Stinkerbell and her Great Grandma meeting for the first time. |
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| The. Whole. Family. |
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| Me and my lovely Grandma. Circa 2010. |
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| Our last pictures. All of her great-grandchildren together... |
I hope there is a bearskin rug in heaven for you Grandma. Keep it warm for me. I promised you a picture. And a picture we will take.
Friday, September 14, 2012
The Other September 11
As an American, September 11 has become an iconic day. At least since 2001.
In Chile, September 11 has been a huge {HUGE} historical day since 1973. A full 28 years before the September 11 that happened on U.S. soil. It is now the one I call The Original. Now that I know of it. Which was not until last year and I had someone mention to me that I shouldn't be going out that day. I just looked at them a bit blankly and asked "why"? Asking a Chilean why the date is so important is like asking an American why we celebrate the 4th of July. It's a question we just assume everyone knows the answer to.
Forgive me for I am Gringa.
Chilean history was not something I studied in school (and even if I had, I would have forgotten it. I forget all history. Not my strong suit). But now it is a date that I will not forget for 2 reasons.
It is a long story and if you want to read all about it click here (and then click through the links).
Long story short - the Socialist government of President Allende were overthrown by a military coup. There are horrific images of the bombing of the Presidential Palace, the suicide of Allende and the torture of his supporters and their families. The actions of that day were, and still are, a representation of military brutality at its worst. In the first days after the coup d'etat, the military killed thousands of dissidents, imprisoned over 40,000 political enemies and forced the disappearance of hundreds more. In the years that followed, close to 200,000 people (2% of the population) fled the country and still more lived in fear, since the government not only punished it's dissidents, it punished their friends and family.
Just 2 days after the military took control of the government, they dissolved Congress and threw out the Constitution. All political parties were abolished. The four heads of the military branches became the new government. Power was to rotate between the four heads but by June of the next year, Pinochet has taken control and established himself as the Supreme Chief of the Nation. By the end of the year, he had declared himself President. And he would remain there until Chile's return to democracy in 1990. 17 years later.
But was he a hero or a villain? You will hear both. During his rule, his social and economic changes took Chile into it's current prosperity. But he was also implicated in over 300 cases of human rights violations including kidnapping, torture, and indirectly, murder. He is an inspiration to other dictators around the world and many people right here in Chile (right wing supporters, academics, neo-nazis). But he is an abomination to others (left wing groups, human rights supporters, family of those missing and killed during his rule).
The day means different things to different people. Some living right next door to each other. And when September 11 rolls around both sides take to the streets. Some chanting "Pinochet! Pinochet!" and celebrating his life and rule. Others holding demonstrations to remember the atrocities that happened during his time in charge. It causes a lot of friction that usually starts a fire. Or twenty. Literally.
That is the answer to "why?" staying off of the streets this past Tuesday was a good idea.
In Chile, September 11 has been a huge {HUGE} historical day since 1973. A full 28 years before the September 11 that happened on U.S. soil. It is now the one I call The Original. Now that I know of it. Which was not until last year and I had someone mention to me that I shouldn't be going out that day. I just looked at them a bit blankly and asked "why"? Asking a Chilean why the date is so important is like asking an American why we celebrate the 4th of July. It's a question we just assume everyone knows the answer to.
Forgive me for I am Gringa.
Chilean history was not something I studied in school (and even if I had, I would have forgotten it. I forget all history. Not my strong suit). But now it is a date that I will not forget for 2 reasons.
It is a long story and if you want to read all about it click here (and then click through the links).
Long story short - the Socialist government of President Allende were overthrown by a military coup. There are horrific images of the bombing of the Presidential Palace, the suicide of Allende and the torture of his supporters and their families. The actions of that day were, and still are, a representation of military brutality at its worst. In the first days after the coup d'etat, the military killed thousands of dissidents, imprisoned over 40,000 political enemies and forced the disappearance of hundreds more. In the years that followed, close to 200,000 people (2% of the population) fled the country and still more lived in fear, since the government not only punished it's dissidents, it punished their friends and family.
Just 2 days after the military took control of the government, they dissolved Congress and threw out the Constitution. All political parties were abolished. The four heads of the military branches became the new government. Power was to rotate between the four heads but by June of the next year, Pinochet has taken control and established himself as the Supreme Chief of the Nation. By the end of the year, he had declared himself President. And he would remain there until Chile's return to democracy in 1990. 17 years later.
But was he a hero or a villain? You will hear both. During his rule, his social and economic changes took Chile into it's current prosperity. But he was also implicated in over 300 cases of human rights violations including kidnapping, torture, and indirectly, murder. He is an inspiration to other dictators around the world and many people right here in Chile (right wing supporters, academics, neo-nazis). But he is an abomination to others (left wing groups, human rights supporters, family of those missing and killed during his rule).
The day means different things to different people. Some living right next door to each other. And when September 11 rolls around both sides take to the streets. Some chanting "Pinochet! Pinochet!" and celebrating his life and rule. Others holding demonstrations to remember the atrocities that happened during his time in charge. It causes a lot of friction that usually starts a fire. Or twenty. Literally.
That is the answer to "why?" staying off of the streets this past Tuesday was a good idea.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
September 11
When you mention the date September 11th to an American the first (and sometimes only) thing that will come to their mind is the day their country was attacked. Almost every American that was old enough to remember the attacks on that day in 2001 remembers exactly where they were and what they were doing when they first heard the news. And no matter how many years it has been (11 as of this writing), I could almost bet, that when the anniversary rolls around once again each one is transported right back to that exact time. That very place. And they relive it all again.
The plane hit the North Tower, followed not even 20 minutes later by the flight into the South Tower. Reports came in that the Pentagon had been hit. Which was almost overshadowed by the images we were seeing : gaping holes torn open in two of the most recognizable buildings in a cityscape full of recognizable buildings, men and women jumping hundreds of feet to escape the inferno that had just invaded their lives, the complete shock of both buildings collapsing inward and downward. And if that wasn't enough (not enough???), the fourth hijacked plane was heroically overtaken by its passengers and crashed into a field in the middle of America. It was almost more than the mind could process. More than we could bear to watch and yet as a collective we kept asking for more. We needed to see it to believe it. And still couldn't. So many images you didn't want to see but could now never forget.
It was something most of us watched unfold on the T.V. or listened to on the radio.
But it was also very personal for too many. Too many watched in horror as the unthinkable happened. Too many fled the scene of the disaster while a cloud of thick soot and black smoke chased them. Too many had to make a death or death decision to let a plane crash into its target or die trying to save hundreds more. Too many watched from afar as they wondered if the one they loved, the one they were now missing, was going to emerge unscathed. Too many did not merely watch the unfolding of events as a spectator, they lived them. Too many will carry the scars of 9/11 forever. Too many are still paying the price of what happened that day.
But out of all of the atrocities that happened that day and all the evil that showed its face, our country also found its strength, its courage, our collective faith. This country rediscovered its faith in one another. In its people. Our country pulled together to endure the almost unendurable. We reached out to each other in a time of need and gave everything we had inside of us.
Some gave all.
Some. Gave. All.
And to them, I say thank you, when thank you merely isn't enough.
The plane hit the North Tower, followed not even 20 minutes later by the flight into the South Tower. Reports came in that the Pentagon had been hit. Which was almost overshadowed by the images we were seeing : gaping holes torn open in two of the most recognizable buildings in a cityscape full of recognizable buildings, men and women jumping hundreds of feet to escape the inferno that had just invaded their lives, the complete shock of both buildings collapsing inward and downward. And if that wasn't enough (not enough???), the fourth hijacked plane was heroically overtaken by its passengers and crashed into a field in the middle of America. It was almost more than the mind could process. More than we could bear to watch and yet as a collective we kept asking for more. We needed to see it to believe it. And still couldn't. So many images you didn't want to see but could now never forget.
It was something most of us watched unfold on the T.V. or listened to on the radio.
But it was also very personal for too many. Too many watched in horror as the unthinkable happened. Too many fled the scene of the disaster while a cloud of thick soot and black smoke chased them. Too many had to make a death or death decision to let a plane crash into its target or die trying to save hundreds more. Too many watched from afar as they wondered if the one they loved, the one they were now missing, was going to emerge unscathed. Too many did not merely watch the unfolding of events as a spectator, they lived them. Too many will carry the scars of 9/11 forever. Too many are still paying the price of what happened that day.
But out of all of the atrocities that happened that day and all the evil that showed its face, our country also found its strength, its courage, our collective faith. This country rediscovered its faith in one another. In its people. Our country pulled together to endure the almost unendurable. We reached out to each other in a time of need and gave everything we had inside of us.
Some gave all.
Some. Gave. All.
And to them, I say thank you, when thank you merely isn't enough.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Farewell
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