Corde Pulsum Tangite

Dear Mini,

 

There will be moments in your life which you would prefer to forget.

 

September 11th, 2001 is one of those days for me.

 

I don’t mean to be selfish in saying that.  I know that some people have a need to revisit the past in order to face the fear they experienced and sit with it, as if the event should make sort of sense of it within the context of their own lives.  I used to be that person.  I understand her.

 

And then some people grow tired of living in a constant limbo-like state of terror and instead choose to defy that paralyzing emotion by giving up their right to be upset and focusing on what can be done.  I doubt that could be defined as forgiveness, but sometimes it’s the only way to turn the rusty wheels of everyday life again.  I suppose that’s who I’ve become.  I’m not sure if that’s healthy.  I’m not even sure it’s something to be proud of. 

 

It just is. 

 

When this old source of fear invites itself into my living room for a cup of coffee once a year, it seems better for me to reflect upon what eased myself and others through that original shock instead of watching graphic footage reruns on CNN.

 

One cauterizing agent was music.  I remember attending a Laurie Anderson concert at Town Hall during the week following the attacks, and the audience’s eerie recognition of performance art as prophecy fulfilled…. 

 

  “And the voice said: This is the hand, the hand that takes. This is the hand, the hand that takes. This is the hand, the hand that takes. Here come the planes. They're American planes. Made in America. Smoking or non-smoking? And the voice said: Neither snow nor rain nor gloom of night shall stay these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds. 'Cause when love is gone, there's always justice. And when justice is gone, there's always force. And when force is gone, there's always…Mom. Hi Mom!”

 

(Heather thinking: what a strange song to write to your baby!  Oh well.  Keep going.  You have a point in here somewhere.)

 

I call to mind the Netherlands-sponsored goodwill concert that I participated in as a member of the Young Peoples’ Chorus of New York City.  I recall the kindly, weather-worn faces of the policemen and firefighters chosen to sing alongside us at Carnegie Hall.

 

We cried:

 

 “Hac in hora
sine mora
corde pulsum tangite;
quod per sortem
sternit fortem,
mecum omnes plangite!:

 

“So at this hour
without delay
pluck the vibrating string;
since Fate
strikes down the strong man,
everyone weep with me!”,

 

-       “O Fortuna”, Carl Orff

 

…for what else could be said at that hour?

 

And in the silences of the week that followed, there was comfort in the company of bewildered strangers. 

 

 

There was kindness in the streets.

 

 

There was reassurance that our worries were common, and that hearts were being searched.

 

 

And thank God there were children to be seen and reminded of.

 

 

My sweet baby yet to be born,

 

I wonder about and worry over what your generation will face.  Many people question the judgment of anyone who would endeavor to bring a child into the world at this moment, when our state of affairs seems so turbulent. 

 

In my humble opinion, the very nature of life is cruel and beautiful, but so worthwhile.  Every generation has its disasters and its victories, and a collective amnesia of the hardships of those preceding them.

 

I have faith in the God that was, and is, and is to come.    

 

We curse ourselves with conflict and war.  He offers the hope of family.           

 

I think we would curse humanity even more if we were to deny those with the hearts of mothers and fathers the blessing of children just because we’re afraid of the future. 

 

So we choose you.