Where Were You On 09 November 2005?

I was in a castle in Austria, on my very first trip away from the family. I had been invited to teach about sexual abuse recovery and co-lead a small group, it was a huge honor. I was thoroughly enjoying being in a country that was like home to me, around old friends and new acquaintances, stretching my new vocational wings after having spent the last ten years in the fog of continual pregnancy and early-childhood development.

After an intense small group discussion, with one participant strongly practicing mutiny against me as a leader (it happens every time, I don’t take it personally) I got a call from the hotel desk. “Frau Jones, furchte sich nicht, aber nur jetzt war in Jordanien ein bomb. Ihre familie ist ok, ihre man sagt hab keine angst”. My heart stopped. Torn between being grateful they were alive and realizing one of my worst nightmares was happening when I was thousands of miles from home. Knowing my family was ok, but there were going to be many families who were not.

My husband was able to get a call through to a mutual friend the US before the phone lines went down. His friend then called me, and Skyped my husband, and we were able to talk. He told be there had been a terrible explosion that rocked the whole neighborhood, people were in the streets wondering what had happened. Fortunately the kids slept through it. He was able to calm me down and tell me that he was fine, that I had a job to do in Austria and I needed to keep my heart in it. Darn those thinking, rational men, I wanted him to tell me to get on the next flight out.

Unable to sleep, I spent the next three hours on-line with Jordan Planet, in tears as I switched back and forth from Natasha, Lina, Roba, Nas trying to get more info. They had the news, not CNN. Soon other bloggers posted that they were ok. No one I knew was lost, at that point. But many other families were devastated, and that grieved my heart. Amman’s innocence was robbed.

The next day I tried to be brave, but in a course that teaches you to attribute appropriate responses to particular emotions, I couldn’t fake my inner pain and sadness. A friend prayed with me, the group was told the news. They were sad, but the after-response shocked me: it was just another terrorist attack in the Middle East. Conversation soon drifted elsewhere.

It was my morning to teach. I got up to the podium and arranged my notes, and tried to deliver my entry. Then I burst into tears. I told them that I was disappointed with some responses to what had happened in my adopted home. With the willingness to de-horrorize the violent deaths of dozens of innocent people, because ít ”always happens in that region”. They listened, and wisely chose to mourn with me at a different level. That is what sitting with victims is all about, and I had to model that in a way I didn’t expect that day.

I realized that Jordan had become a much deeper part of my heart than I knew. I became a face for Jordan for some of those I was with. And it felt good.