But I didn't avoid posting because the tributes and rememberances are boring. They're not. They're important and speak volumes about not forgetting, and how deep the wounds still are.
I spent the day doing the things I usually do; we took a bike ride, going by the YMCA to sign up for a few months (turns out an unheated pool gets very cold when it's not especially hot out, and I need the pool...) and other assorted places. We ran to the mall, had horrible, horrible Chinese food which we wound up throwing away.
Everyday things. But it was there in my head, not even in the back of my mind, because as I zoomed along on my bike I kept thinking that all along I've pretty much felt that I was so lucky because I didn't lose anyone in any of the attacks...but it's not true. I felt the weight of that yesterday, the reality that I did lose someone.
I lost a friend. Her brother was on the 95th floor of the first WTC building hit. We'd been friends for several years, emailed almost daily, but the pain of losing her brother and the horror...she faded away, and neither I nor our common friends have heard from her since early 2002. We don't know if she's even alive anymore--she'd had two small heart attacks before 9/11--and we don't know if she's ever escaped the darkness that swooped down over her when she realized she'd lost her brother.
I miss her friendship. I miss her wisdom. I miss her constant misuse of "whom;" it made me smile.
I hope she's still out there, and happy, and has just moved along to other things. I hope she's had grandkids--I think that would make her incredibly happy--and that she's finally living where she always wanted to.
My loss doesn't measure on any scale comparable to those families who lost people in the attacks, which is why I didn't post. But still...I miss my friend, and I spent most of yesterday wishing I knew she was okay, and knowing that I'll probably never find out.