Genevieve
	Waking	Sleeping	Sign	Repose	Wish
	The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam...

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'Cause at least I know I'm free...
2001-09-13 - 5:40 p.m.

I keep going back to the same general feeling:
There's a grief that can't be spoken.
There's a pain goes on and on.
Empty chairs at empty tables...

I hadn't cried, through the terror and unknowing and watching the great building collapse, not one tear. While watching hours and hours of news coverage, looking at the dust covered people, looking at the wreckage, similar looking to a volcanic eruption, seeing the trickles of blood down a bewildered victim's face, I shed no tears.

I read many diaries, expressing anger, fear, sadness, and many other ranges of feelings, but mostly anger. I thought of my little brother-in-law who was called to the reserves, my big brother-in-law's dad's (the leather furniture fairy) unknown fate, attempting to get home from a transatlantic flight. I knew concern, I felt apprehensive, but I didn't cry.

I talked to Roland who was working downtown near other possible targets, had to drive near the Pentagon on his way home, could see the smoke, he wasn't afraid, and neither was I. I found out that my dad's cousin who lives in Greenwich village, and was working on Wall St. was unscathed, but scared, and I was no longer afraid knowing she was okay. I saw more buildings collapse on TV, I heard tales of heroism, and many tales of trapped heros, maybe martyrs. Not one tear.

My problem is that I am mostly strong, but very empathic. When I was at Wendy's last night, eating chinese food, and dying fabric, we finally turned on the TV to see if there was anything new and there was an interview with a family who had lost their 10 year old local boy, who was on the plane leaving Dulles that crashed into the Pentagon. The family had remained strong for so long, and finally broke. The mother, aunt, everyone was crying, tears of rage, tears of pain, tears of frustrations, tears of loss...
and that is when I let one slip. a stream of tears fell from my eyes while watching this personal anguish. It was heart wrenching.

I found out today that my little broinlaw will not be called until next week, my big broinlaw's dad is safe in Canada, trying to make his way home, that everyone I know of is safe, and sound, but I don't know everyone, and I am lucky that the ones I know of are safe, because possibly 20,000 others who I never got to know aren't.

There is hope, we will survive, we will mourn our dead, and strike back when we can with a strength and power that can only be imagined. America is not perfect, no one said we were. But we are strong, and we stand for freedom, even if we make mistakes.

I wore my American flag tank top today, with blue jeans and a red bandana as a headband- that I got from my grandfather.

I'm off to find flags for the mailbox, antennae, porch, wherever.

Hopefully Alan can dig out the cheesy plasic electronic candles I put in the window at Christmas time, as a show of support, strength, and that the light of freedom may dim, but it cannot be extinguished by terror.

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