contemplativeStrange, it's mixed in my head with my late best friend, calling me at home, saying "You NEED to turn on the TV. They've rammed a plane into the World Trade Center!" and the disbelief. It's a moment shared in time, that bonds us still, and she reaches out from the beyond, two women caught in a moment like insects in amber. Who do you call, when the world you knew rips into glittering shreds? Who is that first person?
And those searing scars of events branded into your soul match, like mirror images. And my thoughts today are not about what happened, but who I shared it with, those who made the short list of psychic trauma, as it were. They know who they are (if a couple of them know anything, in that unknown space beyond this world), and might be reflecting on it, even now. Shared trauma, diminished a bit by those with whom one has shared joy, just shared... You know who it was, forever.
