I am a survivor of 9/11 and the ensuing hours days months and years following. I overslept by and hour and a half that day and missed the appointment I had on the floor above the line of terror delivered by the first plane. Wasn't my time. But living through the moments, days and months to come in a devastated but determined city, walking always through the technicolor streets below and above ground zero and peering daily upon a scene presenting itself in black and white enveloped in a fog of gray, took an invisible toll on my psyche. Post traumatic stress syndrome. In the past years it presented as times of isolation and overeating as a form of protection. If the tragedy can't get through the outer layers then it can't touch me. It won't hurt me. I don't have to feel it.
Saturday morning, I lay in bed. I was fighting off symptoms of the flu, pedometer hooked to my sleep attire with the TV on when the news flashes started coming. And as the tragic moments in Tucson began to unfold I felt myself slipping into the mold I had adopted during the weeks of 9/11. Transfixed
by the happenings on the screen and the need to isolate myself. And maybe eat. Or not.
But this time I came to the realization that I can't stay still for long. I felt the stillness trying to keep me trapped and discovered that movement releases. It releases all that would try to deter us from our futures.
It was hard to pull myself out of that and I am still in process. I look at the strength of all those who are directly affected by the loss and grief of Saturday's tragedy. And their determination to heal.
I lost two pounds last week.
Those families lost their loved ones.
I can certainly find strength to get healthy so my life can be extended.
I can find the strength to move.
God Bless all the souls who through the act of their passing re ignite something within all of us that wakes up compassion , caring and hope.
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