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OXYCHAT!
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September 11, 2002

On this special day of Remembrance we pause and reflect on the events that changed so many lives a year ago. Our hearts go out to those who are remembering friends and loved ones gone.

We would like to share an article (see below) from www.msnbc.com  written by Patti Davis, daughter of Ronald Reagan, as she talks about loving, and losing... and grieving. We will join you again next week with our regular OxyChat Newsletter.

Best Wishes from Jill Johnson
and all of the Oxycise! staff

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Julie Gudmundsen,
OxyChat Editor
mailto:julie@oxycise.com
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We Must Make Time for Grief
( http://www.msnbc.com/news/800532.asp   )

Columnist Patti Davis reflects on how she spent the sad anniversary of her sister’s death—and its lessons for the nation on September 11

By Patti Davis
NEWSWEEK WEB EXCLUSIVE

One Year Later — Aug. 9 was the first anniversary of the death of my sister, Maureen Reagan, from melanoma. I have been thinking about sad anniversaries lately—many of us have. I meant to spend Aug. 9 differently this year; I intended to pause more, to slow down, to float away from the world a little—just enough to get a different perspective. But time got away from me, the world was too much with me; the busy-ness of life kept distracting me.

I Have no special insight into grief, nor am I an expert in navigating its currents, the murky tides that eventually turn all of us into reluctant swimmers. I am a daughter who has been losing her father to Alzheimer’s for years now, who waits for the phone call that will inevitably come. Or for the last flutter of his eyes as I stand at his bedside. I am a woman who lost her sister, who sat in the stark light of a hospital room and learned how foolish all our past arguments were, and how resilient love can be.
But I think I learned something on Aug. 9 about making time for grief, and what happens when you don’t. With another September 11 upon all of us, it seems fitting to share this.

All day, I felt ragged, out of sorts. There was a vague sense of anxiety tugging at me—as if I were supposed to be doing something and was shirking my responsibility. Because I’ve just moved, and there are loose ends in my life, I didn’t stop and take a serious look at that feeling until the afternoon. I just kept on taking care of life—things without realizing that my heart wanted to pause and reflect on life itself. That is what death and loss bring you to—you think about life in ways you never did before. You look out the window differently, you glance into a stranger’s eyes with more kindness, you lift your face to the breeze and smell the scent of a jasmine vine blooming in someone’s garden. You see the world through a dreamer’s eyes, and then you wonder if you are dreaming.

The truth is that none of the things I took care of that day had to be done right then. The errands could have waited, my closet could have stayed jumbled and chaotic for another day, the last remaining boxes could have remained unpacked. I was grumpy and anxious simply because I was supposed to be doing something important, something vital: I was supposed to be looking past this world with all its daily busy-ness, all the things that we make lists for and try to get accomplished. I was supposed to be with my sister—really be with her—in my heart, my thoughts, in my daydreams and memories.

When the heat of the day finally started to subside, I got it. A ribbon of breeze came over my shoulder, I looked up at a thin white cloud, and I stopped. As soon as I realized I hadn’t been spending the day as I should have, I felt something heavy lift off me. Suddenly, I no longer felt ragged and chaotic. I thought that somewhere Maureen was rolling her eyes and saying, “Finally.”

I think grief turns to despair when we don’t give it enough room in our lives, when it gets crowded out of our days, especially the days when it needs to be honored, revered. Our hearts know—that’s why anxiety tugs at us. Our hearts know that the grocery shopping can wait, the trip to the hardware store can wait; everything can wait except the part of us that needs to grieve, and remember, and cry.

I hope September 11 feels slow and unhurried. I hope there is a sense everywhere that there is nothing more important that day than to look past this world, into our hearts and our souls, into our memories and our hopes. Everything else can wait.

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