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Tag Archives: death and dying

Why Wait?

09 Thursday Jun 2016

Posted by debintheuwharries in camping, death and dying, earth, Happiness, healing, nature, recovery, Spirituality, Travel, Uncategorized

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death and dying, desire, gratitude, healing, hope, meditation, nature, perception, philosophy, recovery, redemption, resilience, senses, spirituality, transformation, travel, trust

2014-10-02 pond swampy Sandhills off Hoffman Road“We never know how many tomorrows we have left: eat dessert first!” “We plan, God laughs.”

The notion that we shouldn’t waste time because we have no idea when ours will be up is all too familiar. We’ve heard it, we’ve said it. Often, it’s a loss of a loved one, or the abrupt change in personal status that makes us take a fresh look at our lives. When my father died in 2013, and a dear friend died a mere 11 days later, I experienced what I’ve just recently heard described as “zombie grief”. I remember trying to describe it to some friends, that sensation of being nearly paralyzed. I was sure, I said, that it was the body’s way of preventing one (me) from doing anything drastic. After a while, I was able to move again, but I struggled both physically and emotionally. Only in relatively far retrospect did it dawn on me that I was depressed, grieving. I felt a great deal of anger, and in a way, it was refreshing, in that I felt freer to say “no”, and I did simplify my life somewhat. I stopped giving so much mental energy to people who took my energy but didn’t replenish it. I realized that changes that had occurred in my work situation needing changing once again. I planned for my departure, taking a two month hiatus and traveled across the country, enjoying plenty of time alone, visiting friends old and new, camping, and doing a little creative work through writing and photography. I returned to North Carolina, and struggled to find a balance of work that would be meaningful as well as pay bills alongside my desire to have some flexibility to do the other things that are important to me. It has not been easy, and still needs some adjusting, but for the most part I am glad for where I am with that process.

A week and a half ago, I had a couple of biopsies done on the sole of one foot. I had been concerned about the appearance of small to medium markings that had not always been there. My father died as a result of metastatic melanoma, which coincidentally appeared on the sole of his foot, so I’d been quietly terrified that those biopsies were going to come back as melanoma. I did share this concern with a couple of friends, but for the most part said nothing. I told one friend that if the report showed melanoma of the type that my father had, there is really nothing to be done about it and I would plan accordingly. I thought for just a moment and said “why am I waiting to find out if I have melanoma before deciding to plan accordingly?” Although I continued to wake up each morning wondering if today would be the day I’d get the bad news, I also spent a lot of time thinking about how important it is for me to continue to work towards ensuring that what I devote my time and energy to is more and more in alignment with those things I hold dear.

This afternoon I got the relieving news that I should keep an eye on things, but there are no high alerts at this time. I am thankful. I also hope I have the capacity to keep my eyes towards those priorities and avoid the trap of complacency. I aim to keep things fresh, and not be afraid to shake life up as I did in the fall when I quit a job that offered a modest salary with those much-coveted benefits in exchange for days and days of adventure, exploration, time with friends, new experiences, another kind of self-confidence, creative energy, and lots of “I wonder what today will bring?” mornings.

Eat dessert first!2014-09-23 dessert first Roccio2014-08-25 torta asadaJune 2016 off 109 trailhead troy nc area

Gifts Postponed

30 Wednesday Dec 2015

Posted by debintheuwharries in death and dying, healing, Spirituality, Travel, Uncategorized

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Tags

death and dying, gratitude, healing, hope, spirituality, travel, trust

gift to Brueilly from Dad January 2013

Goldie, as some of you know, is my 2008 gold Honda Civic. When I moved to North Carolina from Colorado in 2009, I pulled into town in a blue Subaru Forester towing the smallest U-Haul trailer available. Soon after I arrived, the transmission completely went out on the Forester. I couldn’t afford to replace the whole thing, so I had to let it go and get another car. That’s Goldie. I didn’t name her for a long time, and didn’t say it out loud until after the high drama of April 2015. I went off the road on a dark, rainy night, in either a hydroplane or bump in the road event. I was airborne, spinning 180 degrees and down a steep embankment, getting tangled up in some heavy brush and missing the trees below by inches. Goldie was still running! I got stuck trying to drive back up the steep hill and needed to be towed to the road, but I was able to drive home from there. That was the night I decided that I should appreciate her a little more, and call her by her proper name.

Goldie and I have been through a few exciting events. In the fall of 2012, I was hit on the passenger side by a young man who was in a hurry to leave the bank parking lot. The force deployed the airbag, which tore out the fabric on the car ceiling. That and other damages took Goldie away from me for close to two months. I finally got her back, only to have the engine overheat a week later. What?!? I had her towed to the body shop, because I thought it had to have something to do with that accident and all the work they did. No, they didn’t think so, and so I towed her over to Brueilly Auto Repair. Steve Brueilly had been recommended to me a couple years prior, for minor work. My friend told me that he was highly qualified, and just as important, he was trustworthy. If he can help you out he will, is what I was told. The next day, Steve called me and said “you’re not going to like this. You have a cracked engine block. It costs upwards of 4,000 dollars to replace, and there can be a lot of damage from the crack. I was devastated. I didn’t have that kind of money. I envisioned myself paying two car payments: one for the Civic, which I wouldn’t be able to repair, and another for a car that I would have to buy so I could get around. I called my dad to make sure that this report about cracked engine blocks sounded accurate. He groaned and said yes, it’s very expensive to replace. I decided to just think about it overnight. Steve called me the next day, saying that something seemed strange to them there, so he had called up to the dealership in Greensboro and had them run the VIN number. Turned out there was a recall on that engine block!  He told me to get it up to the Crown Honda in Greensboro, and they’d get her fixed up.

I was in a shocked state, but thanked him profusely for following up on this for me. If he and his staff hadn’t taken the time to figure out what was going on, I would have been in some hot water. I called my dad, this time with a remarkable update. He was delighted and relieved for me, and heaped praise on Brueilly for his consideration and help. “He could have just told you the cost for the job, take it or leave it, and not given it another moment’s thought. He’s a mensch!”

This second event, with the engine block, actually spilled over in 2013, mid-January. Dad had been receiving monthly chemotherapy since October, in an attempt to shrink a liver tumor, a metastatic event from a primary retinal melanoma. The retinal condition had been treated a few years prior, and he had been given clean bills of health at all follow ups with the eye specialist, but it wasn’t really gone from his body. By mid-January, he was getting ready for the fourth and final treatment, with the plan to see the oncologist in February to review whether the treatment had the intended effect, and possibly bought him some time. He expressed some pain and fatigue at that point, but we are certain in hindsight that he was not telling anyone exactly how much pain he was in. He kept about most of his usual daily activities. Dick Marcus was not one to lay around and watch television, but one day I called him, it was a weekday, in the afternoon, and he said “Honey, I’m not feeling well. I’m lying in bed in the middle of the afternoon. You know that’s not a good thing.” It broke my heart, but he was not to be coddled, and it was the only time he alluded to such discomfort. Even then, he thought it was more the side effect of treatment that was getting him down than progression of the disease.

At the end of January, I received a piece of mail from him. There was a note that read “Give this to Brueilly, with my thanks. He might get a kick out of it. Love, Dad” In the envelope with the note was a plastic card, one that he received copies of every year as a member of the Retired NYPD Lieutenants Association. I put it aside, thinking I would stop by one day soon and deliver it to him. Two weeks later, I was flying to New York City to say goodbye to my dad, for the treatment had not worked, and he was gone within days of the oncologist’s report that there was nothing else to do except provide comfort care. Soon after his death, I pulled out the envelope with the card intended for Steve Brueilly. I didn’t want to go and see him and give him the card. I was afraid I’d burst into tears, unable to finish. So, I put it aside, thinking “I’ll get over there soon”. I’ve been there since for auto care, and I’ve never thought about that card. This morning, I was organizing some paperwork. I saw my father’s handwriting on an envelope, and curious, I pulled it out. I could feel the outline of the little plastic card. I read, again, the note, and held the card in my hand. I’m keeping it with me in my glove compartment. Hopefully I will remember to pull it out and present it to Steve the next time I’m over at the shop. I do think he’ll get a kick out of it.

http://www.brueillyautorepair.com/

 

 

Sights, Sounds, and Memories

14 Monday Dec 2015

Posted by debintheuwharries in camping, Cochise Stronghold, Cochlear Implant and Hearing, death and dying, healing, recovery, sound, Spirituality, Travel, Uncategorized

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death and dying, healing, hearing loss, meditation, nature, perception, recovery, senses, spirituality, travel, trust

2015-10-13 16.19.55I had the great pleasure of hiking and camping in mid-October at the Cochise Stronghold campground, in the Dragoon Mountains within the Coronado National Forest in southeastern Arizona. I arrived late morning, and enjoyed a hike before setting up camp. At 5,000 feet, it gets chilly once the sun sets at that time of year, but the granite walls and sheer cliffs that surround the campground act to reduce winds that might otherwise make tent camping a bit uncomfortable overnight. With virtually no chance of rain, and little to no perceptible wind, I was able to enjoy a rain tarp-free experience, hunkering down into my sleeping bag as I peered through the mesh of my tent and watched the sky darken and fill with stars. At early morning, I was able to view the sky as it lightened and the sun came over the cliffs, the stars fading from view. I shared the entire campground with just one other camper. He arrived about an hour before sunset. I had two thoughts when he pulled in: “aw, I thought I’d have the place to myself tonight!”, and “should I be concerned?” My gut said it would be fine, that he was just camping out like me, and I was correct. We spoke briefly upon his arrival, then went about our respective business.

I had been sitting and eating my dinner when he pulled into the site. As there is no water whatsoever at that campground, I didn’t attempt to cook rice or pasta or anything that would’ve made excessive demands on my water supply (cooking and cleaning). I boiled some water, first for coffee, which I enhanced with a shot of bourbon, and then boiled more water to heat up a food packet filled with a tasty Indian spiced side dish. With that, some crackers and nuts, and the brew, I was set. While I ate, I wrote down some of my thoughts and feelings about the recent death of an old friend. Betty and I met when I was at college in upstate New York. The mom of the young man I became engaged to (but did not marry), we were close for many years beyond that time. I felt like an extended family member for a long time. Circumstance and distance changed things about 10 years ago, but we remained friendly, with my link to her eldest son keeping me abreast of developments when her health took a serious turn for the worse. Pancreatic cancer ultimately took her from this life. She died a few days after I started my journey, days before I arrived at this stronghold. I felt her presence as I sat on the bench, eating my simple meal and writing about her, about who she was as I understood her, and about her influence on my life. She taught me many things about relationships, family, devotion, and the little things that people do for each other to show love. She had a faith in God that I did not fully understand, yet I loved being around that part of her, because I felt like whatever it was that made her so special was intricately woven by that fabric, and I hoped it would rub off on me. I think it did, somewhat.

I heard so many birds calling as sunset came to the campground. Earlier in the afternoon, there were two woodpeckers nearby just having a ball, flitting here and there, banging away at trees, squawking, looking askance, I’d swear, at my feeble attempts to photograph them, to capture a focused shot or two. As I listened to the sounds around me, I remembered how thrilled Betty was for me at the success of my first cochlear implant, the technology that has allowed me to hear again after decades of severe hearing impairment. A musician, it must’ve saddened her more than she let on that I was losing my connection with the hearing world, especially with music. So as I retired to the camp tent for the night, I reflected on how much she meant to me, and how she made me feel like I mattered to her, and how cheered she would be to know that I could hear all those marvelous, musical sounds in the natural world again.2015-10-13 17.27.25

Borders and Borderlines

16 Friday Oct 2015

Posted by debintheuwharries in immigration, migration

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Tags

death and dying, healing, hope, meditation, nature, perception, philosophy, redemption, resilience, spirituality, transformation, travel

border wall looking to Mexico

While traveling through the Southwest this week, I had the privilege of experiencing glimpses of the work done by Humane Borders, Inc. The main office is located in South Tucson, Arizona, but the humanitarian work that they do requires that they travel many miles from town, near and around the border with Mexico. The day before, I’d met with Joel Smith, Operations Manager, for breakfast, and attended a volunteer meeting later in the day. I had the opportunity to meet Juanita Molina, the Executive Director, and many of the compassionate and passionate volunteers that do the hard work of providing water and basic supports to migrants as they cross the desert.

Well aware that I have readers who take issue with migrants crossing the border and living in the United States as undocumented persons, I offer this: regardless of where you stand on the issue of immigration, one thing is crystal clear: people seeking a better life for their families will continue to migrate here. They will take every risk to their lives to have the chance to improve the quality of life for their loved ones.

The efforts made by Humane Borders and their counterpart humanitarian groups is driven by a basic principle: to do what is morally right. Knowingly turning a blind eye to people dying of thirst in the desert is not an option. Founded in June 2000, their mission statement reads:

“Humane Borders, motivated by faith, offers humanitarian assistance to those in need through the deployment of emergency water stations on routes known to be used by migrants coming north through our desert. Our sole mission is to take death out of the immigration equation. Our water tanks are on a combination of private and public lands. In all cases we have permission to locate our water stations on these lands in writing from the landowners.”

The leaders at the organization have done incredible work in building relationships with the enforcement agencies that have their own set of rules to follow with regards to migrant activity, including the U.S. Border Patrol, Arizona Game and Fish Department, among others.

I spent a day on the road with Joel, who needed to check several water stations and change out flags. The blue flags are erected high so that those who are walking through the desert are able to locate the water stations. Even for those who don’t know of the stations, the flags can act as markers for those who may walk towards it seeking assistance. The travel is largely off road once out of town, and the routes are steep, pitted, narrow, and rocky. One must have a solid 4×4 vehicle and a good command of its handling to get to these remote locations. Consider, then, what it’s like to traverse the same routes on foot, with little resources to sustain oneself. Imagine the determination that drives a person forward in the face of these challenges.

I became privy to a wealth of knowledge on the history and culture of the region, and the nuances of engagement, thanks to my guide. After checking some water stations and swapping out a well-worn flag at one site, we continued on and reached the border fence. It is, frankly, a monstrosity, a huge blight on an otherwise gorgeous desert landscape. I look in the direction of Mexico, through the fence, and see open spaces and a wide range of cacti, plants, grasses, and birds. I turn my back to the fence and see the exact same scene, a virtual mirror image. In this place, it becomes ever more apparent how arbitrary the line is, how absurd the effort, for the fence does not do the job that it was designed for: it does not keep people from seeking a better life.

On the last portion of the run, where we needed to pick up some water barrels that needed to be swapped out from a site, we traveled up a steep incline and into view came a rugged outpost of sorts. This was the safe station set up by No More Deaths, another humanitarian group in the desert which works to stop the deaths of migrants in the desert. They are an official ministry of the Unitarian Universalist Church of Tucson. I introduced myself to two young men who were organizing activities, and took a walk around the space. All the essentials were there for basic living supports. 

As we drove across the desert, we spoke about other things as well, including our shared passion for photography. I noted how beautiful the scenery around us was, and how these are the spaces that I most enjoy wandering and taking photographs. Joel agreed wholeheartedly that though it is, indeed, a beautiful place, “It is also a lonely place to die.”

For more information, including ways to support:

http://www.humaneborders.org/

http://forms.nomoredeaths.org/en/

border wall with Joel Smith

No More Deaths welcome sign up on the hill

Days Ahead

09 Friday Oct 2015

Posted by debintheuwharries in Uncategorized

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death and dying, desire, forgiveness, healing, hope, meditation, nature, perception, philosophy, redemption, resilience, senses, spirituality, transformation, travel

Some of you are aware that I made the decision to leave my job last week. It had been time for a change, time to have time to do some of the other things that are important to me. I am on a road trip now, with day three just about under my belt. I’ve covered over 1600 miles so far, some of them through torrential rains. Lots of time to think, and I’ve got a bunch of notes already, but tonight I thought I’d share something I’d forgotten I’d stored under the notes application on my phone. I wish I’d taken a photo after the rains today, it would’ve fit perfectly!

January 2015:

days ahead

decisions

time to get unstuck

new truths expressed

untangling of ties

strengthening what needs bonding

scared

sad

recognition of the path

the fog has lifted

Into The Sunshine: Living With Trigeminal Neuralgia

10 Friday Jul 2015

Posted by debintheuwharries in Uncategorized

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Tags

abuse, atypical trigeminal neuralgia, death and dying, healing, hope, meditation, pain, pain management, recovery, senses, transformation, trigeminal neuralgia, trust

trigeminal_neuralgia medicalook dot com

If you were to Google Trigeminal neuralgia, you’d see a number of key features. Wikipedia covers both TN and atypical TN pretty well.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trigeminal_neuralgia

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atypical_trigeminal_neuralgia

Briefly, it is a neuropathic disorder stemming from the trigeminal nerve. It is marked by episodes of intense pain; in fact, it has been described as being among the worst pain known to humans. You know how the doctor or nurse may ask you where your pain is on a scale of 0 to 10? It’s a 12. It is also quite difficult to diagnosis, and often treatment is tried with the hopes that there may be symptom suppression based on particular symptoms in the face, eye, head and ear, rather than there being a specific test to diagnose it. It has been spoken of as “the suicide disease” because of the intensity of pain and the difficulty in managing the condition. It sometimes presents in older patients after a bout of shingles. It can also manifest as the result of physical trauma.

I have some friends who have heard some of my stories regarding physical challenges that I’ve had throughout my life. I have generally adopted an attitude of acceptance and to large extent tolerance of the various issues. One, however, has been such a challenge that I admit to having wondered from time to time if it was worth continuing to live with it. I am not suicidal. It’s just that everyone has their limits, and I was afraid I was nearing mine. I’d been dealing with a particular set of pain issues for so long (since 1998 I sometimes say, but the lesser episodes came even earlier) that I rarely even talked about it. What for? No one seemed to understand how to help me, and while I appreciate a little sympathy as much as the next person, it was way beyond that by the time I took a chance and spoke about it to a good friend, someone who is knowledgeable about oral/facial issues.

I described the severe pain: stabbing, throbbing, burning pain that I had been experiencing since 1998. The first major flare up was so severe that it had me convinced that something was terribly wrong with my teeth in the upper right quadrant. The dentist I saw for evaluation thought so, too. I was told I needed a root canal. I was shocked, because up until that point, except for several fillings in my teeth, I’d never had dental issues. I loved going to the dentist, in fact. The first root canal was done. I was no better. In fact, I felt worse! She advised that it was now the tooth next to it that also needed a root canal. After the third in a row was completed, it became apparent that something else was going on.

Let me stop here for a second. It’s tempting at this point to say what in the world was the dentist thinking? Incompetent! The fact is, though, that it is not uncommon for people who have experienced this constellation of symptoms in the face to be misdiagnosed. There are folks who have had whole quadrants of teeth extracted, because the pain was assessed as needing this course of treatment. Root canals, I’ve learned, are also not that uncommon.

So fast forward many, many years. Years of avoiding the dentist, as I no longer enjoyed getting work done on my mouth. I’d read up a bit and heard about trigeminal neuralgia, but erroneously thought that surgery was the only definitive treatment, and there were lots of risks involved with that, so I thought well, I am going to have to live with it. The episodes came on a regular basis, but usually lasted less than a day, subsiding over the hours. More recently, it seemed to step up its game. The pain would often last for two days or more. Yes, really. I felt like someone was stabbing my eye with a toothpick, and the eye would run constantly, my jaw would feel locked up, and it seemed like the breaks between episodes were getting shorter and shorter. When I finally took a chance and shared this with my friend, she immediately recognized that I was experiencing symptoms that could indicate TN, and I learned that they have some success with anti-epileptics to suppress symptoms. Did I want to try this? I was prescribed a low dose of gabapentin. I felt some slight improvement, but there were still a lot of what I call break-through episodes.

About two weeks ago, after incrementally increasing the dose to 900mg/day, I started to have some severe break through pain. Honestly? I thought FUCK! This isn’t going to work, what am I going to do, and on and on it went. That afternoon, I was eating a snack at my desk at work and I felt a piece of tooth break in the lower right quadrant. SHIT! Now I had a broken tooth, and I was more in a panic that I would have to have dental work than I was about the cost (and trust me, I was panicked about the cost, so you can imagine). I contacted my oral surgeon friend for a suggestion on what dentist to contact. I had not been to a dentist, not once, since I moved to North Carolina in 2009. Scary, I know, but this is how I have become because of my pain experience. I was given the name of a couple of dentists and chose to make an appointment with Henry Killian in Asheboro. He is really wonderful. He listens well, he has been in practice for decades and he understands. I had the longest evaluation I ever recall by any dentist and we came up with a plan. We were both thrilled, too, that my dedicated efforts to good oral hygiene were apparent. I should get a cleaning at some point, though. 🙂

My oral surgeon friend had asked me a question soon after the tooth broke: how are you doing with regards to the trigeminal neuralgia? I said you know what? It was really bad this morning and I was in panic mode. It is not as severe now. It was suggested that the tooth that broke may have been stressing for days or even weeks and could have been triggering the break through pain. This was actually a great reassurance to me, and reinforced for me the likelihood that this is what I’ve been living with for so long. I have not had shingles, but I have survived physical trauma, and it seems possible that there is a connection. I will explore this in further writings in the months ahead.

When I shared part of this story with another friend the other day, she said “I always think that when you’re cranky it’s because of your challenges with your job, but perhaps it’s the chronic pain”. I have been thinking about that a lot lately, actually. How much one’s mood can be affected by chronic pain is something I am well aware of, but I hadn’t turned the mirror on myself. It helps to know.

I’m doing a lot better now. I may have to increase my dose, as I can still feel it wanting to break through, but the pain level is much more manageable these days.

I feel incredibly blessed to have crossed paths with people who understand, and who care.

2015-06-23 20.36.04 (2)

Image

Endless rhythm

24 Wednesday Apr 2013

Tags

death and dying, recovery, spirituality, travel

Endless rhythm

Posted by debintheuwharries | Filed under Uncategorized

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September 11th Reflections

11 Tuesday Sep 2012

Posted by debintheuwharries in Uncategorized

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Tags

2001, 9/11, death and dying, forgiveness, healing, hope, New York City, NYC, perception, redemption, resilience, September 11th

east river drive traffic
Thinking about September 11, 2001
by Deborah Marcus on Saturday, September 11, 2010 at 7:59pm ·

I don’t think that I have ever written anything in any venue about September 11th.  Sometimes it is hard to believe that it has been 9 years since that morning when things shifted in our corner of the universe. I have many and conflicting thoughts about the days events: what led up to it, who and what played roles in the culmination that was 9/11. Mostly I think about the feelings and experiences of those around me, as I observed them. Those observations were largely visual, for at that time I was not yet a cochlear implant recipient. I wore no hearing aids, and depended to the largest extent on lipreading and other visual clues, with my remaining hearing filling in only the smallest gaps in my experiential world. And so, it was with muffled sounds around me I stepped off of the subway car at Penn Station just after 9 o’clock that morning. I saw a number of individuals standing on the platform straining to hear an announcement. I could hear some of the sound but none of what was being said. I thought ooh there must be some kind of transportation glitch, glad I’m where I need to be already. Someone asked me if I could hear the announcement, which I found amusing, but also had the effect of pulling me in and now I too wanted to know what all the excitement was about. Soon I realized that people were saying “a plane hit one of the towers”…”there may be a second plane”…”no, just a rumor, but there was an accident, a plane hit the trade center” and so on. I was so confused, in that way I would often get when I understood what was said but thought surely I must have misunderstood? I ran up the stairs to the street. At the northeast corner of 8th Ave and 34th street I looked all around me and saw people standing around talking on cell phones.Trying to use their cell phones, anyway, from what I could tell. I had no cell phone, could not hear on any of them. A long line grew at the single functional payphone on that corner. More snippets of dialogue filtered in to my brain and I thought what the hell? and rushed on to the office. I went straight to Angela, my supervisor, who shared what she knew, and wonderful person she is, made sure I was kept up on the news reports that I could not hear. The rest of the day was a blur of emotions. I was pulled in several directions. I was concerned that my TBI clients were ok. That Don was ok. Wondering if my Dad decided to go downtown this morning (he had not gone that day but went to the financial district and the towers often enough for me to worry.) The screams of a co-worker who feared that her sister was up in one of the doomed towers (she was not up there that morning, thank God.) Letting friends near and far know that I was ok. Wondering how, or if, we’d go home that evening. Thinking about how close our office building was to the Empire State building, and with the news of the Pentagon and Flight 93 in Pennsylvania, I don’t think it was excessively paranoid of us to start to envision jet planes ripping through Macy’s and landing in the lobby of our building. Knowing that those buildings were down, the fate of so many desperately uncertain. After a long stretch of frantic calls to clients and their home care staff to ensure that all were safe and coping (reasonably) well with the situation, I stepped out for a breath of air and walked towards 8th Avenue. There was a strange pulse in the air, a vibration. Everyone seemed dazed, and as I walked past a homeless woman I could see that she was repeatedly saying “it’s over…it’s the end…” and I found myself thinking that on any other day I’d be thinking sad thoughts for that woman, how disturbed and delusional she was, but today I wondered if she didn’t have it exactly right.

I will not speak to the details of the attack that crashed over us in the days and weeks to follow. I will also not, in this note, say more than a most heartfelt God Bless to those who lost their lives, or lost loved ones, at the Towers. What I want to share is a little snapshot of the face of New York City in the days following the event. My then husband and I commuted by subway to our jobs in the City from Brooklyn. For at least a couple of weeks, as we rode the F train over the elevated stations toward Manhattan early in the morning, the dark drift of smoke and dust and debris that lingered over and drifted away from the Towers was in plain view. When we were able to bury ourselves  in a book or magazine (looking at the newspaper guaranteed endless images and commentary on the attacks) we would pause in our reading and glance out the window and be thrown right back into that maelstrom of emotion tied directly with the knowledge that the kind of illusory sense of impermeability we once had was gone forever. New Yorkers are a hardy bunch. Events that would make front page news in my new small town in North Carolina are barely noticed in the five boroughs. There are those who misunderstand the New Yorker and see them, from the outsider’s vantage point, as rude, pushy, loud, callous. We (and I include myself here for I will always be a New Yorker) are all of that from time to time but there is a heart of gold there, too. It is mountainous and accessible if you know the way. It was most apparent as I saw people comfort those openly weeping on trains and buses, city streets and offices. I saw it in my neighbors and friends taking a gentler step through the day and extending a longer than usual helping arm to one another in those weeks following that terrible morning. I saw it, too, in efforts to heal through artist expression. My friend Sarah came to me one day and suggested that we might create with our hands objects that are expressive of how we are feeling and dealing with the grief. I decided to go along with this although I really couldn’t see what its value might be to me. We got plain hinged wood boxes and came to the table with various materials and each of us made something that was unique, personal, and in fact amazingly healing. We talked about it a bit after the projects were completed. For me, just having this box that I could open and remember what each little item meant to me was priceless. I have no doubt that similar projects were undertaken all over town, most of which we never heard about because they were meant as objects for personal healing, nothing more.

Each of us undoubtedly have a defining moment around 9/11. For me, it is a single piece of paper found by Don a few days after the attack, on our terrace in Brooklyn. Having stepped outside for a moment, he rushed in saying that I must come outside immediately. Opening the door to the terrace, I peered out and saw a sheet of white 8.5 x 11in paper. What could be the big deal? I thought. Picking it up, I noticed that the edges appeared burnt. Looking closer, I felt a deep chill as I realized that it was a fax from a  company in one of the smaller towers that was later demolished. I cannot tell you the details at this moment because we decided that Don would keep the item. Coincidentally–or maybe not?–I noted that it had been faxed on my birthday the year before. Soon, people would find similar bits of paper around the city, for they drifted with the breezes for miles. I felt like I had been slammed in the head at that moment: any shred of a sense of this all being some kind of  big misunderstanding was gone. These remnants, evidence of what had occurred just days before, were spreading all over the city, demanding to be heard. The challenge was, and remains, in the translation.

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  • Michele Michaels, Danielle Internacionalista Ratcliff, Molly C. Corum and 9 others like this.
  • 1 share
    • Bob Bourke Thank You for sharing…
      September 11, 2010 at 9:41pm · “}”>Like
    • Denise Burhenn Portis Someone I “know”, should be writing more often. Very poignantly remembered…
      September 11, 2010 at 9:45pm · “}”>Like · 1
    • Deborah Marcus Thank you, Bob.
      September 11, 2010 at 9:45pm · “}”>Like
    • Deborah Marcus Thank you, too, Denise.
      September 11, 2010 at 9:45pm · “}”>Like
    • Danielle Internacionalista Ratcliff thank you! i am a native New Yorker but was over here in ESS Eff. My story is virtually everyone i know i called me. i saved the recording.
      September 11, 2010 at 10:32pm · Unlike · 1
    • Joanie Dee wow Deborah, you have helped me to feel some of my numbness today. Thank you for your heartfelt words.
      September 11, 2010 at 10:37pm · “}”>Like
    • Deborah Marcus I am glad it could be a help, Joan. Hugs!
      September 11, 2010 at 10:48pm · “}”>Like
    • Hanz Zappa we where the site today
      September 11, 2010 at 11:00pm · Unlike · 1
    • Judy Schefcick Martin A very touching and well-written perspective of the day, Deb, especially as it regards your hearing loss. I can identify closely with that part as well as your experience of actually being in Manhattan at that time. Even though I was 70 miles away on 9/11, I felt totally connected with all my brothers and sisters in their hours of confusion, terror and heartbreak.
      September 11, 2010 at 11:50pm · “}”>Like
    • Deborah Marcus Thank you, Judy. I appreciate all you’ve said tonight.
      September 11, 2010 at 11:56pm · “}”>Like
    • Gail A Elkin-Scott

      Beautifully expressed. It’s interesting…I was caught uptown after the towers collapsed and walking home I had a strange sensory experience–there were crowds filling the streets walking and yet it was quieter than I can ever remember and…See More
      September 12, 2010 at 2:18pm · Unlike · 1
    • Steph Lainoff yes beautifully expressed…I am not surprised. I continue to put my raw feelings and thoughts into my art….it was on that day, that for me, everything fell apart…
      September 12, 2010 at 4:58pm · “}”>Like
    • Karen Terpstra Wow! Thank you for sharing! Amazing and touching.
      September 10, 2011 at 8:32pm · “}”>Like
    • Deborah Marcus Thank you so much, Karen!
      September 10, 2011 at 8:33pm · “}”>Like · 1
    • Karen Terpstra I just shared it. I hope that is ok.
      September 10, 2011 at 8:34pm · “}”>Like
    • Deborah Marcus Absolutely. Thank you.
      September 10, 2011 at 8:34pm · “}”>Like
    • Roger Robbins Thanks for reposting that. Very heart-wrenching!
      September 10, 2011 at 8:58pm · “}”>Like
    • Deborah Marcus Thank you, Roger.
      September 10, 2011 at 9:52pm · “}”>Like
    • Laurie Pullins Deborah, what is the name of your “blog?” 🙂 (I agree with Denise!)
      September 10, 2011 at 10:46pm · “}”>Like
    • Deborah Marcus Thanks so much, Laurie. We have to leave the quotation marks around the “blog” but can take them off of Denise’s “know” from last year. 🙂
      September 10, 2011 at 10:49pm · “}”>Like
    • Mary Altmann Honomichl

      Onthat day i was over in Europe on a bus tour of 3 countries. it was late afternoon there, and if they announced anything on the bus I did not hear it (no implants yet). We went to our rooms and I turned on the tv–no captions of course…See More
      September 10, 2011 at 10:51pm · Unlike · 1
    • Gloria Charles Sarasin I can’t believe you’ve never mentioned this story to me, Deb. It is an amazing write; heartfelt. My sister Diana, Senator Carl Levins representive at the time, was in the Captol building in Washington, DC on that day. I came so close to losing my sister.
      September 10, 2011 at 10:53pm · “}”>Like
    • Mary Altmann Honomichl DEb, I meant to say, great story and very emotional.
      September 10, 2011 at 10:53pm · “}”>Like
    • Deborah Marcus Thank you, Mary. I appreciate you sharing your experience.
      September 10, 2011 at 10:55pm · “}”>Like
    • Deborah Marcus Gloria–I remember you mentioning this, and I don’t know why I didn’t tell you then. I guess sometimes our (my) experiences have to percolate a long time.
      September 10, 2011 at 10:57pm · “}”>Like
    • Molly C. Corum Very well written. We were all stunned that day.
      September 11, 2011 at 2:54am · Unlike · 1
    • Karen Cohen thanks for sharing this
      September 11, 2011 at 2:03pm · Unlike · 1
    • Deborah Marcus Thank you, Karen.
      September 11, 2011 at 8:55pm · “}”>Like

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