Shell-shocked or PTSD, whatever name one can apply, I have some symptoms of it, directly relating to that fact that I lived in Mid-Town Manhattan at the time of the terrorists’ annihilation of so many lives and a way of life no longer enjoyed by many New Yorkers, many Americans. I was gratefully fortunate that I did not lose anyone close to me on that day of destruction, however I lost the sense of energy for which this most famous of cities is known for throughout the world. The energy of liveliness, exuberance, and a cornucopia of treasures in which to partake; from the museums, theatres, a peripatetic lifestyle, to the bounties of restaurants or all ethnicities, parks, the tulips on Park Avenue every spring and the abundance of joy they personified.
Living in Manhattan had been a life-long dream of mine. As a child, born in Brooklyn, moved to Lynbrook, then to Florida, I wondered how it would happen and when. Once that fantasy became a reality, I couldn’t imagine ever living anywhere else. I drank in each opportunity from culture to shopping and walking miles per weekend. Ambling over the Brooklyn Bridge was one of my favorite activities; my daughter and I did it a few times together with sheer delight.
As a woman already in her fifties, I was thankful that I had never had a nightmare. I can no longer claim that fact after that gruesome day. The first one came just days after the devastation. It has never returned at night, but I cannot count the times it has returned in waking hours. It haunts me like a malevolent ghost.
I cope, though. I do. I paint. My choices of subjects are only lovely things, whether nature or people; they must be beautiful, not dark or sinister. I write poetry, personal and pleasing, infrequently shared with others. It gives me solace, a reason to live in the moment and not dwell on what I cannot change from the past. My novels have happy endings. They must. And, most significantly, I cherish my family, my good friends, and myself. It is crucial to my existence, my sanity, to live with beautiful things and beautiful people.
Since high school history classes, I have been interested and involved in politics. September 11th simply magnified that position for me. Who we elect matters, be it on a city council, judges, senators, all the way to the President of The United States. We all should exercise our right to vote and do so with a conscience that stands for freedom and human rights.
So as I examine how I’ve changed over the decade, I see the nightmare, yes, but I see hope and promise if we resolve to be diligent in our own lives, which will impact more people than the terrorists killed on that bright September morning.