(Written by Mike Cassidy. San Jose Mercury News, September 19, 2001)
There are not enough tears.
Not enough tears to mourn those who died in last week?s attacks. Not enough to bring them back. Not enough to set the world right again.
But go ahead and cry.
As a nation, we are weeping. Two symbols of the United States have emerged since the building blew up: American flags and tears.
Many of us were raised to think crying was poor form It was something to be done alone, in the dark, out of sight. Tears are a sign of weakness, we were told. Crying never solved anything. Big boys don?t cry. Women must hold back tears to hold onto power.
They are old notions that were fading even before terrorism visited September 11. Now, they?ve been polished off completely. The tears serve as a symbol of our common pain.
Dan Rather, our rock in times of national crisis, cried on ?The Late Show With David Letterman? on Monday night. Letterman fought back tears. New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani has been reduced to tears.
Baseball came back Monday and with it, tears. New York Mets Manager Bobby Valentine, who spent recent days helping rescue workers, wept in the dugout before his team?s game in Pittsburgh. St. Louis Cardinals reliever Steve Kline faced down the Milwaukee Brewers with the bases loaded. He nearly broke down afterward, when the TW announcers asked if it had been hard to concentrate.
Even President Brush cried on national television, and who could blame him?
Thousands of civilians dead. The Pentagon a shambles. Rescue workers sifting through rubble. The future uncertain.
Tell us about your prayers, a reporter asked last week, and where your heart is.
Bush turned away, lowered his head and turned back with tears in his eyes. His voice caught.
?Well, I don?t think about myself right now,? he said. ?I think about the families, the children.?
The tears were reassuring. The most powerful man in the most powerful country in the world crying. Just like me. Just like you.
These are times to think about what holds us together when so much seems to be falling apart.
In the past week, I?ve encountered people crying in conversations that started out innocently but turned to the World Trade Center or the airplanes.
It?s hard to know what one thing or combination of things brings it on.
For me, it?s the firefighters. My brother is one who, thankfully, works far from New York. For you, maybe it?s something else. The stories of the children who lost parents. The familiar sound of an old friend?s voice. A song on the radio.
Sometimes the tears come with good reason and fair warning. We can feel them boiling up like a volcano as we listen to yet another victim?s relative recount her loved one last moments on earth
Other times, the tears come unexpectedly and in odd places. On the freeway. At work. In line at the grocery.
Some push back the tears with work. The rescue workers in New York, news reporters, military strategists, counselors.
They toil with resolve at least until there is a moment of rest and reflection.
Did you see the newspaper photo of firefighter Tony James at the funeral for New York fire chaplain Mychal Judge? There was James in dress uniform executing a crisp salute. But his face: contorted in grief, tears streaming down. Shattered.
The pictures told a thousand words. And those thousand words spoke for millions.
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