It's been thirteen days.

Thirteen.

It doesn't feel right. When I think of that Tuesday morning, it feels like just yesterday. I'm still dazed and confused as if it were yesterday. I'm still numb and awe-struck as if it were yesterday. I'm still unable to work and function as if it were yesterday. I'm still as confused and frustrated as if it were yesterday.

On the other hand, the Monday before feels like centuries away. The team meeting we had on the eleventh seems so far away that I can't recall any parts of our conversation. I can't remember what I did on that Monday. I can't remember what I wore or what I ate. It feels like a hazy part of my past life, not like only a fortnight ago.

When I walked down to the corner of Broadway and Cedar on Thursday, I was amazed at effect of the layers of dust on the surrounding buildings. The area gave a feeling of having been untouched for months, or maybe even years. As if an area time forgot. If it weren't for the workmen, ambulances, and the smoke, I'd have bet it was a site preserved from a historical past. As is, it looked more like a film set than real life.



Two days ago, Jason aimed me to see if we were interested in going to the prayer service in the Yankee stadium with Shannon and him. I'm not religious and Jake's even less religious than I am so I hesitated.

I wasn't sure about the details of the event and thought being in the same place as hundreds of other New Yorkers might help me. I've been having a lot of trouble coming to grips with what's going on. I've had a hard time crying. Or feeling in general. I thought being surrounded by others might allow me to grieve.

After confirming with Jake, I told Jason we'd go.




One side of the stadium spilled with people and the other was completely barren. The home base was covered with flowers and the pitching mound had been converted to a snapshot of the American flag. People were wearing pins and waving flags. Representatives of every religion sat on the L-shaped podium set up in the middle of the field. President Clinton and the New York senator, the governor, the mayor, they were all present. Many people gave inspired speeches. Reassuring the crowd that America was indivisible and that we would rise more powerful from this than before. I choked up several times, but I still didn't cry.

Many representatives of several religions talked about God watching over us and the victims being proud of us, and God protecting us. While some were good speakers, I would lie if I told you that their words influenced me as strongly as the ones of the mayor and, ironically, Oprah. But only two things brought out my tears today: singing of the National Anthem and, much to Jake's dismay, Bette Midler's singing of Wind Beneath My Wings.

It's been thirteen days.

I still haven't really wept. I still can't believe my eyes when I stare at the void in the sky. I still haven't digested any of it. It doesn't feel like thirteen days. On one hand it feels like one hour and on the other it feels like it's been years.

But not thirteen days.

Previously? Two Hours.