Boston gave me a taste of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) yesterday. I was in my ninth hour of gardening when my mother called and told me to turn on the TV. (She knows me. I never watch TV.)
The ear-splitting blast (this time bombs, not planes going into buildings), the shaky video images of bloody people, crying people, terrified people. And again, the responders transformed into superheroes.
Whoever planned this clearly never had the balls to run a race, otherwise they would have known that hundreds of medical professionals would already be deployed for the marathon. Good people will always outnumber and outsmart evil people. Always. (Patton Oswalt articulated this beautifully in his Love Letter to Boston.)
Hands shaking, tears streaming down my cheeks, I rushed to Facebook to check on the safety of the runners from my town who were there.
More tears when I saw the smiling face of my friend’s 6-year-old Ethiopian adopted son waving the flag of his birth country, waiting for the Ethiopian runners to pass (someone commented “He’d better not blink!”).
All were safe. So why was I still a mess?
My own sons were 5 1/2 and 3 years old on 9/11. We live just outside of Washington, D.C. My sister called from Seattle after the first of the Twin Towers was hit in New York. While we were on the phone, the second tower was hit, taking our breath away. A few minutes later, the Pentagon.
Knowing at that point that we were under attack, my sister and I both had the same thought. “Where’s Mark?” she said.
At the time, my husband worked at the CIA. I remembered with relief that he had meetings outside of the building that day, since the “Agency” was an obvious candidate for the next target.
My relief was suddenly cut short. Max was at the CIA daycare center. Shit.
I hung up on my sister and flew to the car (Troy was safe and sound in his Kindergarten class in another part of town).
With NPR giving me a play-by-play as my shaking hands clutched the steering wheel (again, the shaking hands), I tried calling my friend to see if she wanted me to pick up her daughter as well.
No cell phone service–another PTSD trigger yesterday.
I joined the line of cars waiting for clearance onto the complex, hoping to make it in and out before another plane hit, or a bomb hit, or a chemical weapon hit. I craned my neck out the window every few minutes to check the sky.
Finally inside the classroom, I was greeted by my son’s radiant smile. “Hi Mommy! Why are you here?”
“I just thought I’d bring you home early today because I love you so much,” I said as I lifted him into my arms and cradled his silky blond head.
I willed myself to appear calm. I smiled at him. I tried communicating through my eyes alone with the teachers, who were putting on the same act that I was. Mothers in war zones go through these motions all the time, I realized.
In the coming weeks, I heard that some parents were able to block the news from their children. We didn’t have the TV on, but the truth crept in via NPR in the car.
Every night at dinner, one of the boys would ask, “Did they catch him yet?”
Driving past construction sites, “Is that the building that the airplanes flew into?”
And the ultimate mortification, finding myself in a debate with my three-year-old son about the correct pronunciation of Osama Bin Laden.
“No Mommy,” Max insisted, “it’s Sambiladan.”
“No dear,” I said, “it’s O-SAMA…Bin…Laden.”
“No Mommy, it’s Sambiladen.”
It was enough to drive me to go out and buy a puppy–the ultimate distraction.
Along with the flashbacks, my own life in the present moment brought painful feelings of empathy.
I had recently run my first big organized race. It was only 5 miles, vs. 26.2 miles, but I knew what it felt like to train, plan, draw from the energy of the crowd on race day and feel absolutely elated at the end of it. For the Boston Marathon, those feelings would be magnified a hundred times over. Until the final mile yesterday.
And as the reports of the deaths and injuries rolled in, all I could do was go back out in the garden and dig furiously. I had been rejoicing all day that my body was strong enough to garden, after that strength was sucked out of me in 2009, my breast cancer year. I could lift shrubs, move soil, and roll a heavy wheelbarrow up a hill. My body was my own again.
But runners lost their legs yesterday. And children lost their innocence. And an 8-year-old was killed and a 3-year-old was among the throngs of injured.
And all I can fall back on is something Mahatma Gandhi once said:
“Remember that all through history the way of truth and love has always won. There have been tyrants and murderers and for a time they seem invincible but in the end, they always fall — think of it, ALWAYS.”
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Francie Hunt says
Love this post, Martha.
I can relate in so many ways.
Martha says
Thanks, Francie. I hesitated using the term “PTSD,” not wanting to diminish what our troops deal with daily, often to the point of being life-debilitating. But it really was shocking to experience those triggers so deeply.
Marcia says
Martha, this is so very powerful. Along with tragedy and shock, and along with the brave and self-less first-responders (both official and citizens), it is empathy that is the extraordinary human dimension. Sometimes, it requires personal experience; other times, just a deep connection to what must be the emotions and experiences of others. Your thoughts a moving blend of “I’ve been there, or almost” and empathizing with those whose lives have been forever changed. Oh, the amputees – hard to imagine what they will think and feel when they awake to their new “reality”. I was struck last night to learn that former patients of the doctor who did the amputations at Mass General have contacted him to volunteer to connect with the victims of the bombing – to assure them that while life may be forever changed, it does go on, and can be a rich and wonderful blessing as well.
Martha says
Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts, Marcia. I loved the story about former patients offering support to the amputees. Yes, life will go on, but not before a lot of pain, grief, anger, frustration and deep despair is processed. I felt like an amputee after my mastectomy, but it was my legs (which could run) and my arms (which could lift weights and garden) that pulled me out of the darkness.
Beth Godwin says
Well said Martha…same memories and same feelings!!
Martha says
Thanks, Beth. I knew I wasn’t alone in my reaction! It’s sad our kids started out their young lives with that event in their consciousness. Nothing to do except appreciate all the more what we have.
Bill Apablasa says
Martha, your thoughts left me touched and inspired. Absolutely beautiful.
Martha says
Glad you were on the other side of the country, Bill. (But then, you’ve got that earthquake threat hanging over your head — sorry!)
ellen says
in all the aftermath of Boston, we find such joy in Spirit–our 9/11 wonderful (much older) dog. Keep “shedding” old boy. It is OK. You remain our silver lining from that awful day. So far, for me, nothing from April 15. Such a tragedy.
Martha says
Funny that we named him Spirit as an alternative to “Ghost,” which the kids came up with initially because of his almost white color. At the time I thought it was just a double meaning (ghost, as well as a lift to our spirits). Now, I have come to realize what a great source of the deeper Spirit his is–the Spirit that connects us all. My Buddha dog.
Joann says
Thanks Martha. I cried when I read this post. Olivia and Daniel were not born yet, but now I can imagine what it must have been like as you were desperately trying to reach Max. I’m so glad you are willing to share with us through your blog.
Martha says
Thanks for the kind words, Joann. My family got off easy that day, unlike so many others.
Elke says
Dear Martha,
what a terrible thing to do to hurt so many innocent people. Thank you for sharing the horrifing moments of 09/11. I have been thinking of you very often during those last few days. I knew that you participated in a race just recently. So did my son Kai, he just ran a half marathon in Berlin and had booked one more in London, fortunately in September and not the one coming up on this weekend. My thoughts are with all Americans and especially with you and your family going through this again.
Hugs, Elke
Martha says
Thanks so much for your warm thoughts, Elke. If you’ve seen today’s news, you’ll know that all of Boston is under lockdown right now as they look for the second of the two suspects (after the first one was killed last night in a police stand-off). So sad, and terrifying for the people of Boston since there may have been more explosives planted. We are very far away from the danger, but our hearts go out to everyone there. xxoo Martha
Judy Griffin says
Dear Martha, I can relate to your post and your reaction to his horrifying event. My husband was in Tower 1 and thankfully all but one from his company got out. We lost many friends and also colleagues of my husband. Our town was one of the hardest hit. At the time my 4 children were 8,6,4,1 and I was ever so relieved when I found out my husband got out and was o.k. Made me feel all the sadder for all those whose loved one didn’t make it. My heart goes out to all the victims and participants in the marathon. You words so eloquently described how shaken so many of us feel in tragedies like this.
Martha says
Oh my goodness, Judy! I can’t even imagine how horrifying that must have been for you. I’m so glad your husband made it out safely. What a complex range of emotions, both short-term and long-term, to experience living in a town with so many lost. I’m sure it’s framed your perspective on life going forward. Thanks for sharing your story here. xxoo Martha
Elaine Wellman says
This is a really powerful post Martha. As a Manhattan resident during 9/11, I can absolutely relate to what you went through. In fact, I’ve visited the amazingly peaceful and beautiful 9/11 memorial at the World Trade Center … but I’m not planning on visiting the museum when it opens. Nor do I need to see a lot of images from new tragic events like the Boston massacre. I want to know the facts but I can’t take a lot more. I love the quote you offer at the end of the story. It’s exactly what can keep us going during troubling times.
Martha says
Glad the post resonated with you, Elaine. I also visited the 9/11 memorial for the first time in January. All of us–my husband, sons and I–found it to be incredibly moving. So well done! And, like you, I don’t feel a need to see more images. It’s amazing how much seeps into our conscience–facts, images, stories–even when we don’t have the TV on. Thanks so much for sharing your experience. ~ Martha
Lisa Manyon says
Martha,
I too am saddened by what happened in Boston. I also don’t watch TV (or at least rarely watch). I remember 911 and the call I got to alert me of what had happened.
I so wish the world was full of more peace to protect the children.
Lisa
Martha says
Thanks for connecting here, Lisa. What’s so odd is our children’s worldview, having grown up in this environment. We were on a boat once going from Spain to Morocco. My son, who was in 4th grade at the time, pointed out some men sitting at a table on the ferry. He looked at me worriedly and said, “Mom, I think they’re terrorists.” I told him it was an unfair generalization, gave a long speech about multi-cultural understanding, tolerance, not judging, etc. Then I got up to find my husband and saw that the men in question were handcuffed to the table! Didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Sums up the complexities of it all. Good to hear from you! Martha
Nafissa Shireen says
While I grieve for those who had their lives irrevocably changed, or ended, I chose to not watch the media portrayal of it. We cannot change what happened, but I hope we can all change our future.
Martha says
I couldn’t agree more, Nafissa. Perhaps it was because I had lived in Boston, or because I am a runner and women from my town were there for the marathon, or because a dear friend lives in Watertown and was under lock-down during the drama…all of these kept me uncharacteristically in front of the TV that day. It’s not healthy, especially when I knew full well that there was nothing I could do to change the situation and my emotions were adding to the collective bad vibes. I was really happy to clear my head working in the garden all weekend after the arrest was made! Thanks for adding your perspective. Martha
Tara DuBois says
Thank you for sharing your story! It truly is amazing what kids pick up on and how they explain and share it. It sounds like you and your family have a wonderful communication style that allows open conversation so you can talk to them about such events when their questions do pop up.