I Found Grace and it’s All I Got

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9/11, firemen, Grand Cenral Station, growth, healing, John Lennon, New York, Remembrance Day, Twin Towers

This morning I woke up and turned on the news, and seeing as though it was 5:54, I had no clue of today’s date. It took no time at all because the local news announced it within the first few seconds. I got up and got ready. On my way to work, I was driving through the Tenderloin, where I marvel daily at the brashness of the prostitutes that litter the side streets and alleys of Polk Street. On one of the most infamous, Post Street, I looked to my left while stopped at the light. I had never noticed a fire station there before, but today, 15-20 firefighters stood at full salute, staring at nothing and everything. The guy behind me honked because I was so caught off-guard, and I choked up. I actually did much more than that, but let’s just say I choked up.

Remembrances of 9/11 have caught me off-guard today, and twice before. I knew today was 9/11. Before I left work yesterday, I put a small red heart next to the date on the board in my classroom. It’s a day my 13 year old students cannot remember, but I do. I’ve mentioned it was my first week in a Connecticut boarding school, my first night on duty by myself, caring for the boys from New York City and Jersey City and Long Island. So I’m surprised how jarring the reminder on the news and the saluting firemen were to me this morning.

The other two times 9/11 caught me off-guard was in early October or late September of 2001, and again in the summer of 2003. At the end of September, I went to New York for the day from Connecticut. I didn’t know what I was looking for but it was something. I think I wanted to get lost in the Met and Tiffany’s and the Public Library. Normal places, shiny places that make me feel safe and collected. I took Metro North from New Haven, and headed into one of the most beautiful buildings New York still offers–the cathedraled Grand Central. But I didn’t get too far. Instead, I was surrounded by missing persons notices, handwritten signs asking about the whereabouts of Tom, last seen at Cantor Fitzgerald, or Robyn, an annuities trader. But it didn’t stop at Tom or Robyn. The entire length of the corridor, the walls, makeshift tables held the faces and names of thousands of those missing. Every scenario existed. Yet I wasn’t prepared. Instead of the Public Library, I spent over an hour here, reading, looking, crying, seeing pieces of people I love in the eyes of each person remembered, missed, hoped to be found okay and unscathed.

They were still there in November when I returned. And then they weren’t. I don’t remember when they disappeared, but just like a well-cared for gravestone, or a roadside memorial marker, they were tended to, loved. Some had big printing with exclamation marks saying “Found alive, thank God!” or “Remains Recovered, Rest in Peace”. Gut-wrenching. But I don’t remember when they no longer were there.

The second time I was unaware of 9/11’s presence was nearly two years later when I met a friend Downtown. When I worked in finance, I worked out of our Downtown and Midtown offices a few times. But I am very familiar with lower Manhattan. I got out of the subway and couldn’t for the life of me get my bearings. It was a Saturday morning, so Wall Street and Battery Park were pretty quiet. But something was strange. After circling the block a few times, distracted by heavy machinery and construction, I realized why I was so disoriented. I had never been down there without the Twin Towers.

There was more light than usual, there was so much space, and I didn’t have a marker for where I was because they were now vapor. I remember groping something like a light post or mailbox or wall, because I thought I was going to have a panic attack and needed to hold on to something concrete. I had purposefully chosen not to see Ground Zero. It was nothing I personally wanted to memorialize. I had seen the blue towers of light flying from JFK, and I had seen the media coverage of Ground Zero. But I just couldn’t do it. Until I was forced to, and I have to say, the size–the scope–was much more than I realized or perhaps could even bear.

So while 9/11 never sneaks up on me, I am still caught off-guard. I fortunately am not scarred to the extent of so many Americans, specifically New Yorkers, that day. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a loved one that Tuesday morning. I didn’t recognize any of the faces in Missing Persons posters, but recognized them as the face of all of us–all of us wandering around like zombies for a little while, lost and confused and unable to obtain their bearings. But after a few more years, and even a decade, and now a decade and change, we are able to “see the wind”.

“Oh, I see the trees. Everything is clear in my heart. I see the clouds. Oh, I see the sky. Everything is clear in our world”. John Lennon always wished for peace and love. 9/11 would have broken his spirit. It could have broken all of ours. But 11 years later, we remember, we see a clearer world, and even get caught of guard when we don’t see the wind.

Efil’s God–Eels

Breathe–U2

Oh My Love (Piano Edition)–John Lennon

Smoke and Ashes–Tracy Chapman

I Knew You Were Waiting for Me–George Michael & Aretha Franklin

Loving Cup–The Rolling Stones

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In My Blue World

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children, Colbert Report, John Lennon, Maurice Sendak, Music, Terry Gross

New York City Skyline from Brooklyn

Driving home today, I heard a Neil Young song I hadn’t heard for years. For some reason, I stopped to listen to the lyrics of “After the Gold Rush”. The line “Flying Mother Nature’s silver seed to a new home in the sun” could not be shaked. I woke up at 5:30 this morning like usual. I watch the local news in bed to wake up for a good ten minutes, which was interrupted by a flash news bulletin: Maurice Sendak died. I actually put my head back on my pillow and wept. Not necessarily out of sadness but just for the sake of humanity’s loss. He had always been an enigma to me until recently, when I started seeing and hearing him in interviews. From NPR to The Colbert Report. It started in November when I was driving home from work, listening to Terry Gross on Fresh Air.

What I knew about Maurice Sendak before the interview: that he did the illustrations for A Hole is to Dig. He was blacklisted for a while due to In the Night Kitchen and its “lewd and provocative illustrations”. He wrote and illustrated Really Rosie, which was eventually made into a musical starring Carol King’s music. We used to play it all the time in the bookstore. He was gay, uber-liberal, and a well-known curmudgeon. He did not do many book tours. He stayed true to himself. And finally, when the wild things “roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws”, I was never scared, just like he promised. Not even once. Even at four.

In Gross’ interview, I learned a great deal about Sendak. He discussed his long-time partner who passed right after 9/11. He talked about other close friends. And he cried. This larger-than-life man, who I always imagined to look like the lead Wild Thing, cried because he missed the people he loved: his parents, his sister, his partner, his friends. And then he cried for Gross, telling her that the only sadness in his own death would be that he couldn’t speak with her anymore, because she too was his friend. I lost it. Even Gross was touched. Her voice cracked. When have you ever heard that?

It’s interesting how I can relate the rest of the songs to humanity, Sendak, children, loss. Lennon’s lyrics relate to anyone who has ever shaken up the planet–in thought, in art, in music, in love. Like Where the Wild Things Are, the soundtrack from A Charlie Brown Christmas defines my childhood as well. Tonight, listening to the vocal version of “Christmas Time is Here”, I heard a new melancholy. It almost sounded like a requiem. Finally, the original version of “Songbird”, not Willie Nelson’s version (although I love it dearly) was to be the end of my novel. The lyrics “And I wish you all the love in the world, but most of all I wish it for myself” seems fair, selfish, complete, honest. I think that’s what Sendak wanted, even though he never said it.

I’m not sad for the physical death of Maurice Sendak–he lived an amazing life, and he was ready to go home. Instead, I am sad that there will be no further creations. Sendak had a dark side like many of his books. They were obscure and unconventional. And for that, in a current world of daily oxymorons–overripe political correctness and constitutional amendments banning gay marriage–I am sad. There will never be another. No more Pierre who said “I don’t care”, which was my brother’s favorite. No more Bumble-Ardy who never wanted to be nine again after his botched party.

When I was in elementary school, still living in San Jose, our public library had a recording of Where the Wild Things Are . You called a special number, and a pre-recorded voice read the entire book to whomever dialed. It was summertime, and I would sneak up to my parents’ room, and sit on my dad’s side of the bed where the white phone rested on his nightstand. I would call and listen once a day. Now, reading the same book to my nephews and niece, I watch their love for the classic 30 years later. What kid can’t relate to being sent to bed early for being bad? What kid hasn’t experienced a rough day?

Sendak in my heart this afternoon was the silver seed flying to a new sun. Finally, he can be reunited with everyone who went before him. And that, is definitely a new sun. Thank goodness these books live on. At least I hope they do. Kids need to be allowed to be kids. Let them feel fear. Let them feel anger. Let them dance around naked. They’re kids.

Turn to Stone–ELO

Watching the Wheels go Round–John Lennon

What Would Willie Do?–Bruce Robinson and Willie Nelson

Christmas Time is Here (Vocal)–Vince Guaraldi Trio

Songbird–Willie Nelson

Cracklin’ Rosie–Neil Diamond