My Turn

Back in the days of print magazines, I was a Newsweek junkie. I looked forward to my copy coming in the mail each week, and I read it cover-to-cover. Each issue had an essay written by some everyday person, submitted to the page titled, "My Turn." I wrote an essay and submitted it, but it was never published, and then Newsweek gave up its print editions and I gave up my addiction to Newsweek.

In confronting the anniversary that greets us every year on September 11, I recalled that essay and searched for a copy of it. I found it and read it, and I still believe that there is some merit to what I had to say. At the risk of offending anyone, I am offering it here. I think I wrote it in 2007, but my thoughts on the topic are the same today.

And so, here it is:

My husband was killed by a terrorist. After being held hostage for four years, and despite the pleas of many to spare his life, he died on December 20, 2002.

Unlike the victims of September 11, 2001, there are no memorials being planned to honor my husband. There was no government-issued monetary compensation for me or my children. There was no trial held to judge the terrorist responsible for his death. And "12/20" has not become a mantra like "9/11." My husband was only one out of a half-million victims that year, and his killer has continued to terrorize families with no "war" dedicated to preventing further carnage.

The terrorist that killed my husband was Cancer. Like many victims of 9/11, my husband was young (45), physically fit, and healthy before he met his killer. He left behind a wife, three young children, and a community of friends and colleagues who loved him and are still struggling to deal with their loss.

But the media did not seek us out to ask what we think of the monuments and memorials planned in his honor. They did not ask our opinion about the latest Hollywood film that documents his death. And they do not write human interest stories about how his children are coping in their fatherless world.

My heart broke with the rest of America when the lives of nearly 3000 innocent victims were lost on that clear September morning. I mourn for the children who lost parents on that day. And I feel a connection to the husbands and wives left behind, knowing first-hand what it is like to face a future without the one person you thought would always be there with you.

But more and more, I ponder the almost-unspeakable questions . . . why is their loss more "news-worthy" than mine? Why is there now a "war on terror," with its horrendous loss of life and limb, and not a "war on cancer," where evil cells would be the only target? Why is taxpayer money being spent on foreign soil when a maniacal terrorist runs rampant here at home, claiming the lives of thousands of victims every week?

My morning paper details for me the ongoing dispute about how to rebuild at Ground Zero. But I grew weary of that controversy long ago. For those of us who lost loved ones in the more conventional ways, "moving on" is, though certainly as painful, perhaps less complicated. My now nineteen-year-old daughter, in a flurry of activity, has found multiple ways to avenge her father's death. Initially, she organized a team of peers to participate in Relay for Life, a fundraiser for cancer research. Next, she swam 1.4 miles into Provincetown harbor to raise money for AIDS. And in her senior year of high school, she devoted countless hours to raising money and awareness to save Darfur. She works tirelessly, in her father's name, to help those who need it. I can think of no monument more fitting to honor my husband than the selfless efforts of his progeny to work toward the better good. I burst with pride, knowing how he would feel about her work.

We live in a world of car magnets and wristbands. Bumper stickers admonish us to "never forget." But beyond the monuments, the memorials, the flag-waving, and the yellow ribbons, there is the real work of humanity -- trying to make the world a better place. While I would never suggest that the families of the victims of 9/11 don't deserve the memorials planned in honor of their loved ones, I would remind America and the world that there are many of us who lost loved ones in an untimely manner and have found ways to honor them without fanfare. Free of the public's inquiring eyes, we manage to build our own memorials to them in our beliefs and actions. And we do so with no expectation of entitlement.

Expected or not, grief is part of life. My grief is no larger than anyone else's, and his/hers is no greater than mine. The most moving memorials are the ones we carry in our hearts, the ones that inform the way we live our lives. No matter the name of the terrorist who claimed our loved ones, we must focus our energy, our talents, our resources, and yes, our revenge on rebuilding the world . . . one act of love at a time.