MizSuz
Posts: 1881
Joined: 1/1/2004 Status: offline
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A dear friend I cared for died in the towers. For two days I knew he'd probably been there but I couldn't get through on the 800 number to find out his status. He was married and I dont think he wanted his family to know. He loved them very much but was convinced they wouldn't understand or would take it to be something sexual (when it wasn't). He didn't want to hurt them and for me, regardless of how I might have handled that situation for myself, I did not feel like I could honor his wishes and call them just to relieve my own concern. Can you imagine being a wife and picking up a phone to "I am his domme" or a woman trying not to say "I am his domme"? I'm self centered but I'm not selfish. I sent an email that was never opened. So, I kept trying the 800 number, going about my business and searching every article on any media to catch a snippet. Thursday evening at 6:15 I got through on the 800 to find out he was listed as missing. I went home, laid on the couch and for the first time since the events of 9/11 I cried. I couldn't stop crying for a long time. It was very difficult but also very cathartic. Later that night my phone started ringing. Some of the first responders that I knew were getting home for the first time since the towers fell and were alone with their thoughts. Some of them needed to talk and I listened. It was graphic and heart breaking and horrible but it helped me get my head around the whole thing a bit more. For weeks I watched the news, listened to the news, scanned ALL the papers, looked for anything I could find on the net about my friend. I've got a few things squirreled away that I wouldn't have had I not done so, and doing so helped me feel less powerless. Turns out he was one of the ones going up when the towers started coming down. He was like that. A large contingent of his kinky brethren went to his funeral. There were so many people there that we couldn't get near the church, only stand outside and listen. There was no way our presence would have been called obvious. We were lost in the crowd. Afterwards we went to a pub and gave him an "irish wake" that was hard, but it helped me feel not so alone. I've only told you about the way it transpired for me personally. I haven't told you about the stories I heard from those down there, during and after. I haven't told you about the incredible and wonderous outpouring of love and caring for each other that I saw, or the tales of the unsung heros I heard about. There was a lot of that going on in the middle of all that ugly. I'll go to see it because mulling it over to some degree helps me accept it and look for the good in it. It's hard to think something so horrible could have any good at all, but the good was in the way we treated each other afterwards and there was a lot of it there. I'm hopeful that the movie will focus on the relationships of the characters because that's the real story; and it's really what I want to be reminded of.
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“The more you love, the more you can love—and the more intensely you love. Nor is there any limit on how many you can love. If a person had time enough, he could love all of that majority who are decent and just.” - Robert Heinlein
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