Another Tuesday

I wrote the following poem for the 10 year remembrance of the 09/11 attacks.  I want to share it again this year:


Another Tuesday

It was just a Tuesday.
3000 people got up that morning
And started their normal routine.
Some walked their dog or fed their cat.
Many others woke their children
Dressed them in their still new clothes.
Some drove their children to school.
Others watched as their kids dashed out
To catch buses or join their friends.
Some made breakfast before they left.
Others thought they would get something on the plane
Or on their way to work.
Some kissed their children or their spouse.  Some did not.
Some said “I love you.”  Some did not.
Some said words of anger instead.
Because everyone thought it was
Just another average Tuesday.
And for awhile, it was.
Some of them had just settled in for a long plane ride.
Some opened a book or a magazine.
Some were listening to music or taking a nap.
Some were talking to the person in the next seat.
Many others were settling in to work.
Some had just gotten in.  
They were getting their first cup of coffee
Turning on their computer
Greeting the person in the next cube.
Some had been there for awhile.
They were getting their second cup of coffee
Finishing their morning e-mail
Welcoming their later arriving co-workers or boss.
Because it was just a normal Tuesday, after all.
Until 8:46.
At that moment, for hundreds of these people, their Tuesday
Ceased to be anything at all.
For the rest of those 3000, their Tuesday would last another hour or so.
Some of them knew this.  Some did not.
Some could call a loved one, say farewell.  Some could not.
One hour, more or less.  Enough time for what?
Some reflections on happy times?  Some regrets?  Some prayers.
And then Tuesday ended for them, too.
And for the rest of us...
That Tuesday lasted 24 hours, just like any other Tuesday.
But was unlike any other in every other way.
And we thought we would never know another normal day.
But then...we did.  Time went on.  Life went on.
And gradually, slowly, life resembled what we had known before.
There were differences, subtle differences.  
And then those differences started to seem normal, too.
And then the day we were certain we would never forget
Became something we rarely thought about.
Something removed from our daily awareness.
Something taken out and examined infrequently.
Something put away and abandoned until the next time we look.
And little by little a decade passed, and now,
It is just a Sunday.
Just a Sunday that happens to share the date with that Tuesday.
Some will watch a baseball game.
Some will watch football instead.
Some will enjoy a late summer afternoon with their family.
Most of us will go about our normal Sunday.
Some will stop to remember, some will not.
Those that remember will feel some sadness for those lost that day
An abstract, distant sadness ten years removed.
We have largely forgotten that the space between 8:45 and 8:46 may contain
The only moments that still matter.
And no day should be...just...anything.



Nora Craven
Copyright 2011

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