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September 11, 2001

© Claire Thomas

I'm writing this on Tuesday, September 25, 2001. My daughter learned about the terrorist attacks against the United States at school. Although, my first reaction after I heard the news was to rush to the school and take her home, I resisted this impulse thinking it would be better for her to experience a normal day instead of watching the television reports as I expected to do all day. When she returned home I discovered she, too, had watched the television news all day. I would have liked to have been there when she heard the news, to have been able to comfort her, but then, most likely there would have been little comfort as we adults were stricken with the magnitude of the unfolding events and unable to explain much of anything. When I asked her about her feelings and thoughts of that day, she answered me with the written word, the following mix of prose and poetry.

The immediacy and honesty of her writing haunted me as I realized that we cannot protect our children from pain in this world. I am also in awe of her words as I am still grappling with putting words to this experience. Each time I have begun to write my column for this space, I have become wordless.

I know words mean something, words count, words matter - and I hope that soon the words will come to me. I hope to add my thoughts about September 11, not because better writers than I haven't already offered to us their unique and wise vision, but because I need to do this for myself. I also think I need to do this before I resume writing my reviews about dictionaries and other word-related books.

It has been two weeks. It seems like yesterday. It seems like a hundred years ago.

Right now, the only thing I can say is my heart is with friends and families of the victims. I am so very sorry for your loss. Words that mean so much, yet fall so short. -- Sandra Linville-Thomas

September 11, 2001

by Claire Thomas

Day 1:
Dream Sun
Thousands of voices screamed
across space and time.

And I.
I did not hear it.
I lounged in my fluorescent-lit classroom,
my mind stiffly encased in a small, self-centered bubble,
concerned with lipstick and verb forms.

Half a country away, a nightmare,
freezing time for one terrible day.
It made everything different.

I should have guessed.
The sun knew what was going to happen that day.

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