Sept. 15, 2001 ~ Words fail me.
I thought I had so much to say, and there are so many thoughts whirling around in my head, but when I sit down to write... nothing comes. Normally, when faced with grief or tremendous emotion, I cannot sit still. No task is too small or unimportant; I clean and do laundry and straighten drawers and closets, mow the yard, tend to the animals. It has been my habit to concentrate on the mundane, on the things I can control, when everything else seems so out of control. This time, though, has been different.
I've been so tired, so close to tears, and have felt so incompetent. I keep falling asleep at inappropriate times, mostly when I'm sitting and watching TV. Like so many others, I've felt almost physically incapable of NOT watching the news. Thursday night it seemed as if it might be time to turn off the TV. That night my younger son was ill and was unable to sleep at all. Yet he still wanted to go to school, which meant he needed for me to drive him. No way was he going to drive when he was so tired. So drive him I did, and since his college is a bit of a distance away, I had to stay in that city instead of coming home. What to do, what to do. I went to a place which once brought great comfort... the zoo. There was hardly anyone there, just a few home-schoolers and some very young children. I sat and watched my very favorite animals, the otters. I LOVE otters. Love how they play and swim and act so goofy and funny. I wonder if they think the same thing of us... that we are goofy and funny and really entertaining? For thirty minutes I sat on a bench and watched them eat leaves and dance and play in the water, watched them roll in the sand, laughed as they finally curled up together and slept the sleep of the exhausted. They flopped on their backs and wound up as one big ball of otters, heads on other tummies and paws on neighbors' tails. In the worst of times, they gave me reason to laugh.
Other people have said, far more eloquently than I ever could, what I wish I could say. How sad I have been, how fearful... how worried I am for our children and for our children's children. And speaking of children... let me tell you about my soldier boy.
Some of you may remember the early entries of this journal, when I wrote about my shock and dismay that he had joined the Army. I was pretty much in denial for quite a while. Mostly it was because of my terror that we might wind up in a war, and like every mother on the planet, I don't want to lose my son. I don't want him to get hurt, don't ever want him in a dangerous situation. I couldn't even IMAGINE this child of mine being in the military -- it seemed so unlike him. He's so independent... so free-spirited... or he was. I couldn't picture him taking orders from anyone, couldn't see him taking abuse from some drill sergeant. Well, I stand corrected. He has surprised me.
When I speak with him now, he sounds like a young man. A grown-up. He sounds so much older and wiser than he did just a few short months ago. He is more tolerant than he once was; I suspect this has to do with being in such close contact with all different kinds of people. Well, I am incredibly proud of him. Yesterday I asked him how he and his fellow soldiers felt about the recent events. In a word... angry. They can't believe that "they" took out the towers, but even more frightening to the "boys," the Pentagon was attacked. My son doesn't think that his unit will be sent anywhere but Kosovo... that's where they usually go. He is still thinking in terms of taking a few classes while he's in the service. At this point he doesn't believe there will be a war.
I hope and pray that he's right.
There will be a test on Monday; those with the highest score will probably start their airborne training the following week. So tell me, what should I hope for, that he does well, or that he doesn't? He wants to be a paratrooper. I want him to have what he wants, except... except... I can't help but wish that he wanted to be a file clerk.
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