Life Goes On

By TAD BARTIMUS

Life goes on.

Look around. Yes, there is sadness -- way too much of it. But there is also joy. It's the joy that matters.

On September 11, 2001, Baby Marissa barely filled up half her car seat and rode facing backward. Now she looks forward as the world rushes past, wiggling her tiny toes in glee as they dangle over the car seat's edge.

Last year, when Timothy wore plastic water wings for the first time, he was so frightened that he clung to his mother's neck. This year he flies across the swimming pool like a duckling.

Twelve months ago Christopher couldn't walk. Now he runs, all the time, everywhere, with his parents in hot pursuit.

On September 11, Helio was so new he couldn't raise his head. Today, he chases the dog, shouts "'nana!" when he spots the wooden block decorated with yellow bananas, and is on his third pair of shoes.

Annikka Rae wasn't even here. Now, at 9 months, she's cutting her third tooth and sleeps through the night.

And there's more joy to come.

Katie is pregnant.

Chantel and Trent will be married on September 14.

Brett and Henrik will celebrate their first wedding anniversary on September 15.

Gertrude is planning her 93rd birthday party.

No matter how hard we hang on to grief, it mutates, dulls and eventually eases. Relentless sorrow -- the sort that confines us to our house, presses us into our pillow -- gives way in the face of mundane acts: showering, washing our hair, changing clothes. Eventually, we venture outdoors. Finally, we return to work. Waves of sadness still swamp us but, like the tide, they recede.

Pretty soon, without realizing it, we've stopped holding our breath and existing on caffeine. Life demands that we buy and prepare food, pay bills, launder towels, feed pets, love our children, and then love them some more.

We cannot experience the full pain of those who lost loved ones on September 11, especially the widows and widowers. But in spite of themselves, surely some have laughed once or twice in the intervening year. Others have probably slept an occasional dreamless sleep. Any number may have distracted themselves enough to pass a whole hour without conjuring up their missing loved one's face.

I swore that on the first anniversary of September 11, I wouldn't watch television or listen to the radio; I didn't reckon on all the stories leading up to this day. I've learned much from the well-intentioned documentaries, nightly news broadcasts and public radio reporting.

But my best news comes from reviewing my own wall calendar. The tidy, marked-off squares separating September 11, 2001 and September 11, 2002 offer a year's worth of blessings. So it is with the more than 100 babies who've been born to mothers who lost their husbands in the terrorist attacks.

Last week in a New York City suburb, friends gave a first birthday shower for the son of Ari and Jenna Jacobs. Despite the death of her husband after one year of marriage, Mrs. Jacobs told NPR that Gabriel -- born six days after his daddy died in the World Trade Center -- reminds her that "we are lucky enough to know we are more than our losses."

That's why life goes on.


© 2002 The Women Syndicate

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