Disjointed

When my great-grandmother was nine the mill in her small town blew up. She told the story a few times, and wrote it down once so we have a copy of it, I have a recording of her telling it. I taped it the last time I saw her before my great-grandpa died. For some reason whenever anything bad happens around me I think of this story.

She was nine and she said she was playing outside with her brothers and sisters when she saw fire over the trees and heard a really loud sound. She said her younger sibling started to cry. Her Mother said it was the mill and sent her off to get her Father. I can see her as a little girl running through the fields better than I can remember her voice telling the story. I remember how she wrote it. "I ran into the field and told Pa. He and the other men went to the mill and I went back to the house." I keep wondering how she told him, was she scared, was she out of breath, did he yell to everyone else, did he already know? Or was it just as simple as she makes it: "They need you at the mill, it blew up."

When she went back to the house her Mother and sisters were already getting ready. Blankets and water. Her story was so calm. "We put blankets down so men could lie down. Pa and the other men brought lots of them back home." Boys and men who had lost limbs, were tore in two, were burned and cut. I guess all they did was all they could. Hold peoples hands, wash what could be, give them a chance to rest. She didn't ever really say. She talked about a boy she knew who she always liked. She said he "talked soft and was shy" he "always had stuff in his pockets, like a baby bird or a kitten." My mom used to talk about him too, and she never knew him obviously. But she always cried when she talked about the boy who carried kittens in his pocket. I cry too. My great-grandma didn't cry. Not when she talked about him. But she said it was sad because he was hurting and "then he died." And then she wrote about how they spent days cleaning up, and the house was full and noisy. And they had to rebuild the mill.

And it seemed all so simple. All her stories seem so simple. This is what happened, this is what we did. They were living in California during the Depression. All their friends lived in the 'dust bowl' and were starving with no money so they moved back and hired them to make furniture. That's just what they did, because they needed too. I first heard of the Depression when I read Steinbeck's "The Grapes of Wrath" about a family who just wanted to get to California...that's all they wanted. Then I find out that's where my family was...and they moved back...so they could be with their friends. Just because.

My great-grandfather joined the Military at 16 (he lied about his age) and went overseas to World War I because he wanted too. Just because he was needed. We were sitting in the living room talking about my sister going to Sarah Lawrence College when he piped up with his story: "I met Sarah Lawrence. When I got lost." My mother explained later that my great-grandfathers division had been killed and he was about to find another one to join when he met Sarah Lawrence and she made him drive an ambulance for the rest of the war. My mom thinks it's because she knew he was too young to be there. That's what happened during the war.

These stories to me are incredible. Everyone talked about these remarkable things as if they didn't matter. As if it was just normal and didn't require a lot of thought and worry. As if it was nothing.

And I think about it when bad stuff happens because I realize that it is normal. For the people I know, for the people I love, it's normal. When September 11 happened, my brother couldn't call his wife so he walked from Queens to Manhattan and they met near "ground zero" where she narrowly missed being under those buildings. Then they called her Mother and went to his office and had some tea. He forgot to call us, his family, but obviously we've heard from him since.

I heard about a plane crashing in New York and went to school. I was in a class full of Military girlfriends and wives. We watch the television and my teacher said "Be scared today, tomorrow we won't be." The bus home was getting full so I walked the 15 miles back to my apartment and baby-sat for one of the ladies whose husband needed to be driven to base.

My husband-then-boyfriend was on a ship headed for home from a six month deployment. He saw what happened, went down to the head to brush his teeth, then went to work. He called me later to make sure my family was alright and said "You're not scared, stay that way. Stay at home." And then we hung up.

Yesterday, I turned on the t.v. and saw what happened in London. I went over, kissed my husband then ironed his uniform and sent him off. Just because he needed to go. And we were both scared, scared for our friends who are stationed in London, scared for our family there. But it was simple. You just do what you have to.

And I'm still thinking about my great-grandma and the boy who carried kittens in his pocket and how I think she just held his hand.

And I'm thinking about how complicated everything is when you don't know to be scared or not, or worried, or optimistic, and there isn't anyone to hate or blame because the whole thing is caused by hate and blame. And it isn't really that simple when you're scared the people you love aren't okay and they might be scared too.

So I just keep thinking about my family. My friends. Our blood relatives, our military brothers and sisters, and my family and my loved ones who I'm lucky enough to have just a phone call away.