visual learner

i look at his picture from time to time. it's not in a frame, or anything. i have to look for it when i want to see it. it's not like i have it socked away in some drawer or keep it in the coin pocket of my wallet along with my nephew's nursery school photos. and i never look at the picture of him when i'm busy. or with other people. and until now, i've never even told anyone that i have looked at him, many times, and wondered about what i would call Serious Questions.

supposedly, his name was jonathan. he was someone's brother, husband, friend, employee, son, nephew, hero, confidante, inspiration, nemisis, alter-ego, etc. theoretically, if the man i look at is jonathan, a name that means "gift from God", he worked in new york, at windows on the world. he is one of approximately 200 people who made the choice to jump out of the world trade center on september 11th, and a man named richard drew snapped a series of photos of him as he fell. whoever he is, he has been immortalized in print, in photos, and in the hearts of millions of people, not the least of whom are his family.

his photo bothers me. i'm not easily shocked anymore. once you've seen how the sausage is made, you can't really be shocked; suprised, maybe, but never shocked. the fact that richard drew took this photo doesn't bother me. it's not the first time i've seen a dead body or someone in the process of dying. in my line of work, you either make friends with death, or you find a job at starbucks. what bothers me about this picture is what i am confronted by, and how it is so deeply juxtaposed against a stark backdrop. what i see in "falling man" isn't some desperate act, although i suppose one could characterize it as such. what i see is something beautiful, something hopeful, something that is ultimately full of life and a love that i find difficult to put words toward.

i will be the first person to admit that what happened on 9-11 was the seminal point of my coming of age, as well as that of my generation. nothing has ever been the same. nothing ever will be. i'm reminded of a robert frost poem, used so well by se hinton in "the outsiders"--"nothing gold can stay". how true. and things are always so much more golden, halcyon, and idealized in the 20/20 vision of the rearview. i have written about that day. i have dreamed about that day. i have wished that it had never happened so many times. and i probably always will. but my pain and my fear and my issues about that day are those of a spectator. i didn't know anyone directly who was killed--friends of friends, that kind of thing. no one on my christmas card list was lost to me that day. and while my life, my little small insignificant life, was radically changed by new security measures at the airport, new warning systems, new news formats, and new prices on just about everything, pretty much i kept on going the way i always have. there is something about the pain and the anguish and the terror of that day that does not belong to me, because i was not there. to co-opt it, to run on about it, to be all ptsd about it seems like something akin to rape, recurring nightmares notwithstanding.

i suppose that's why i look at his picture. there is something that is still so surreal about that day--something that defies my ability to believe that horrible thing happened, and i have stood at the lip of ground zero, held my best friend's hand, and wept at the emptiness in that place that can never be filled, no matter how tall or wide or broad or deep they build. i watched it happen. on nbc. in my nightgown, holding caro's hand, and actually having to remind myself to breathe and not scream. and i was 1500 miles away from the reality of it. i didn't believe what i was seeing. and i suppose that, too, is why i look at his picture.

i have a hard time understanding blind hatred. i've been a lucky girl for a lot of years--i've never been in a controversial demographic, one way or the other. i can't remember ever being really and truly discriminated against. i have never been disenfranchised. i have never been threatened with death or punishment because of my beliefs or behavior. i can't imagine that i would ever come to a point where i would feel ok about subjecting other people to my will or my whims, no matter how much i joke about taking over the world. the right to choose your bliss is a precious one. the admonition to "live to the point of tears" is one i take very seriously. i demand that from myself. to imagine that choice being removed from me, or to imagine removing it from another person is so beyond me that i run out of words when i think about it. and that is why i look at his picture.

"falling man" is a hard picture to look at the first time. i saw it three years ago, for the first time. i keep going back to it periodically, to remind me of things, not the least of which is that life, even the briefest of moments in the most desperate of places and direst of straits, is so precious. the concept of life is a large one. life is more than the numbers in our bank accounts, credit scores, winners and losers of office politics, winners and losers of national politics, family squabbles, rifts in friendships, etc. life is the substance that cannot be measured in quantity. it's forehead kisses from someone you love. it's driving at dusk on two-lane blacktop to the middle of nowhere, with the top down, just because you can. it's mac and cheese at your grandmother's house. it's angels on the head of a pin. and they are myriad. and they are beautiful.

in the final analysis, i suppose i go back to look at "falling man" periodically because i don't want to forget. i don't want to forget how special we are. how brave we can be. how volatile and beautiful and terrifying and exhilarating the substance of life can be. i don't want to forget that we all have choices to make, lives to live, crises to reconcile. i don't want to forget that love is stronger than hate, peace is more powerful than war, dreams come true, and God is bigger than my dreams. "falling man"'s choice, while controversial by some standards, says all of that to me, in an image. and i suppose i have exhausted my 1000 words describing this very moving photo.

i like what was written at the end of an article in "esquire" magazine says about "falling man"...

"maybe he didn't jump from the window as a betrayal of love or because he lost hope. Maybe he jumped to fulfill the terms of a miracle. Maybe he jumped to come home to his family. Maybe he didn't jump at all, because no one can jump into the arms of God.
Oh, no. You have to fall." that's kind of amazing and wonderful and redemptive, i think.

mil besos,

rmg