* Writers' Spark * Every story has to start somewhere *: Prompt: Anything but that

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Prompt: Anything but that

Less than angels and demons, less than personal conflict, less than health and weight struggles. Anything…I want to write about just about anything more than I want to write about how I felt that day, the days that followed, the years, the moments that overwhelm me. Today.

But as with the angels and demons, as with the characters that demand their stories be told, these feelings demand their say, too. I’ve been avoiding it all day, especially for the past, oh, three hours that I’ve been sitting with the laptop, scrolling through Facebook, Etsy, DeviantArt, anywhere but news. Anywhere but here.

Because it’s not really about the news, for me. It’s not about politics, or religion, or even freedom. It’s about hatred. And loss. And fear.

And refusing to give in to those things. I remember so much that I don’t want to write about that day. One thing was sitting at the computer, reading the passenger lists. Because I am that much a masochist. I didn’t even know anybody on the planes. But there was a family of parents and their two year old daughter. That could have been my little family. I can’t go look for their names now. There’s too much garbage about how it was all a fake for me to search through to find it. Maybe someday. Because I remember that little girl.

I remember the father on his way to his daughter’s wedding. The wedding they held anyway, and celebrated their family’s love even though he wasn’t there in person. Because I absolutely believe that he *was* there.

I remember the heroes. The ones who ran towards. The ones who said, “Let’s roll.”

I remember lunch in the Restaurant on Top of the World. I haven’t been to Ground Zero. I haven’t watched United 93. So many video tributes, so many articles posted today. I can’t. I just can’t. Because the trauma is right there, a heartbeat away, and it’s hard enough to hold it at bay.

But if I don’t, then hatred wins. Then all the death and destruction win. The heroes lose. They ran toward. I don’t think I would. Could. I don’t know. I don’t want to know. But I can hold the line in my own small ways. Fight the darkness with light. Anger with kindness. Despair with hope. Sadness with a hug.

It’s sappy. True. Ridiculous? Maybe. But we all make choices, and they lead us somewhere. The little ones pile up, and the big ones, well, sometimes they’re really big. I don’t want to spend my life thinking about the bad choices people made, or make. The ones I’ve made. Or make.

I want to pick up my little wavering candle and hold it in the darkness. That’s how I choose to remember the ones who died. That’s how I choose to honor the ones who ran toward.