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Visiting with David and Granny Sally (plus thoughts about upcoming anniversary of 9/11/2001)


This morning I got a late start to getting over to my visit with David. I was running late, so I got a cab from the bus transit downtown over to the Quadrangle. My visit was half of the time with David by himself and half of the time with my mom as well. We had decided to call my mom Granny Sally, but I guess that will have little purpose unless I decide to have another child later on.

I’ve been talking to my friend who lives in New York, Irfan. He has always really liked me although we live far away. He lives in Brooklyn but is from Pakistan originally. He is a Muslim and practices the traditions. He’s a very nice person, but I’m not ready to consider my next move in terms of men yet. I’m not sure whether I’m even ready to take the next step in divorcing Chris. The social worker for the court recommended taking things slow in case we reunify. It may or may not work out.

The day after tomorrow is the tenth anniversary of the September 11, 2001 attack on the World Trade Center in New York City. There was a Word Press blog that I saw which was taking a day by day approach to counting the days after the attack. I left a comment about having been at a Zen retreat on that day. I was at Tassajara, which is in Cachagua in the mountains of Carmel Valley. I was with a friend, Mackenzie. We were attending the work period and staying for free in exchange for six hours of work that day. I was the only one who did not go into the temple that day and pray, even Mackenzie who is atheist went in, and that is significant. I needed time to digest and process on my own, even if that meant the kitchen staff woman could not go in. I felt bad as if I might have kept her from something she wanted to do, but I needed the time to center myself individually. I don’t know if that makes me a different kind of person, or what. I just needed the alone time at that moment. Maybe I needed to stay busy and centered by working in the kitchen. I don’t know. All I know is that I was afraid.

When we got back from the retreat, there was a woman in the car we got a ride in who was from Australia. It was apparently her first time in America. She came to the street where my parents were because that was where I was staying and where I was being dropped off. She said, “So this is an American neighborhood.” I thought to myself how this was not a typical neighborhood. There really isn’t one. And that certainly wasn’t a typical time in America.

We were all unified in a new way that day, I think. My father was somewhat of an extremist when he was alive. He believed in a lot of what people would call “crack pot” theories. When people in the news said they saw the devil in the smoke that came off the World Trade Center, he said he could see it.

My father actually died the next year of suicide. He did not live that long in the post-9/11 world. My whole personal and mental world changed since that time as well. I wonder sometimes if 9/11 triggered some of my personal mental health crisis. It was definitely a challenging time for a lot of people. The world had changed, I had personally changed, and it was not a small change. It was a big change.

Now, ten years later, we have a different president, the head of Al Qaeda has been captured, we have a new set of wars, and we are about to have a new election next year. Some indigenous cultures, particularly ancient Mayan culture believes that in the year 2012 the calender starts over. This means the world sort of recycles itself. Some people, some New Age folks and other folks have taken that to mean that it is the “end of the world” at that time. There is always some collection of people who are predicting doomsday. My father was one of them. I am not so much one of those people. If the world is going to end, I want to have accomplished all I want but be accepting and peaceful about it. I don’t want to be involved in any fighting at the time.

I’m starting to feel peaceful in general. Someone wished me peace with my decision to accept David going to be adopted. Now I’m starting to feel that way for the first time. It’s a strange feeling. My friend Rose told me that her mother gave up her brother for adoption and she did not know about him until she was maybe 13 years old. She said her mother old her that it was the hardest thing she ever had to do. Still, she said it was for the better. I can totally relate.

My baby was born in the post-9/11 world. He will never know a time when there was not that part of history. Maybe he will ask his adoptive parents about it. Maybe he will talk to me about it if he ever comes looking for me someday as he gets older. Or maybe he will just come and tell me how he feels about me. I pray it will be a positive interaction. I pray he will appreciate my positive intentions in giving him a better life with a competent family.

I will never stop loving my boy no matter where he goes in life. There is supposed to be a Facebook page, a private one, that they will make for me to keep track of whatever David will be doing as he gets older. I will like that.

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