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Healing From Tragedies Past and Present

© Regina Sewell

Tuesday, Sept. 11, circa 9:00 a.m. The phone rings. I’m trying to write. I have a deadline. I am annoyed. But I answer anyway because I feel like I should. It’s my partner. She’s telling me that a plane just crashed into the world trade center. I thank her for letting me know and try to get her off the phone so I can finish writing, but before I get her off the phone she tells me that another plane has crashed into another tower of the trade center.

I am numb. I want to care, but I can’t. This is too much and I have a deadline. I finally ask her what she needs, tell her I love her, get her off the phone and get back to my article. Something of epic proportions has just happened, but I can’t feel it. It’s sort of like an itch that is so deep that you can’t scratch it. I don’t turn on the radio, the T.V. or look for news reports – at least not at first.

But of course I am sitting at my computer and I get e-mail after e-mail announcing the tragedy and seeking some sort of emotional response. Usually I am good at helping people process their feelings in times of crisis, but this time I can’t. I respond with theory. I have a Ph.D. in sociology. I am good at theory. Theory doesn’t require acknowledging feelings. I can’t cope with feelings; theory feels safe.

At dinner, my partner wants to tell me more about the attack on the trade center and the Pentagon. Again, I respond with theory. But she’s not online. She’s not just words on a screen. She’s alive and in front of me, shrouded in feelings. My theoretical explanations do not stop her need to emote. She goes beyond the abstract into the human content of what happened. It isn’t just buildings made of glass and steel and other inert materials that were destroyed. People’s lives were destroyed; many died. She describes some of these deaths in vivid, horrific detail. I find an excuse to leave the table and find myself washing dishes, even though it’s not my turn. Forty-five minutes later, we’re fighting. Like a scratched record, I keep repeating, “Why are we fighting? I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Thursday, Sept. 13. A friend e-mails me seeking to process the tragedy. I had spent Wednesday lost in flashbacks of being physically, emotionally and sexually abused. I still can’t cope with Tuesday’s devastation. I respond with theory to counter her prediction that this will lead to global disaster. Finally, after three paragraphs of global analysis, I realize that perhaps her fears are valid. Not necessarily that I agree that a third world war is imminent, but that in times of crisis, it’s normal to be afraid. So I assure her that it’s normal to be afraid. Then I invite her to explore her fear – to pinpoint exactly what she’s afraid of. I suggest that rather than focusing on what she’s afraid will happen to the U.S. she try focusing on what she’s afraid will happen to her.