Dear Jon,

They want to build a mosque where you were murdered. I want to do the right thing. So I’m having a debate in my head taking on the two sides. What would you want I wonder.

See, that’s the hard thing. I’d think after knowing you for such a long time, it would be easy to know your mind. I conjure your shit-eating grin, those blond tendrils of hair, I can picture the debate as it takes place. The problem is, I don’t know what you would say.

Remember that time in D.C. when we were talking to the Jehovah’s Witness’? They said they would see you in heaven because you frustrated them so. You could debate to the death. I always said we argued, but you insisted it was debating. I’m wondering now what you would think of the situation we are in. They want to build a mosque where you were murdered.

I didn’t say any of this–it was my friends’ house, their party and I didn’t want to ruin their night. Turned out they were frightened of him, and worried he might turn violent. That thought never entered my mind. I just wanted to gut him.

The oddest thing happened. I had lunch with a woman, she’s a famous actress. I told her about Jon right away. I told her because she asked. I told her because she wanted to know and could handle the truth. See, that’s the thing. People are different. Although we just met, she was open, honest, and caring. She had a real spiritually to her, and I felt it right away. So I didn’t feel the need to hide. And she said she didn’t feel any different. That’s why I could tell her. She said my spirit was bright. It made me want to cry. It made me miss Jon. I forget sometimes for a moment that he’s gone. Never for long. Just long enough–

So when someone I admire tells me I’m strong, or have a bright spirit, I don’t know what to do with that. My mother says men and women are different. I don’t know about that. I’ve met so many people on this journey of life. Many kind and caring individuals. My mentor, a wonderful poet, said the same thing about my spirit that it was shining bright and I was stronger than most people she knew. “Ha, ha.” I wanted to say. “I am not strong. I want to curl up and disappear. I want to throw myself under a subway and fall into the waves of the ocean.” People see the you that you project. Jon would be happy that I have come out on the other side but it’s hard. I’ve made it through with lots of yoga and support and therapy. Chanting helps me a lot. There’s a man named Krishna Das who I listened to twenty-four hours a day after the fact, and Wah, whose spirit shines brighter than anyone I know. They helped get me through the dark times.

My friend, the actress, asked me if I had read The Year of Magical Thinking, by Joan Didion. I told her that I had gotten half way through but couldn’t finish it. Even all these years later it’s too hard to read it. The book triggered me so much I was in tears and back to the days after. I couldn’t stand Didion’s pain because it was my pain.

Grief is a tricky thing. 2008 and I am healed and I am still in the days after. People are open and kind and giving. Others are greedy and in their own craziness and destroyers. This is the world we live in. I am glad to be a part of it. I hope Jon is looking down and watching over me.
 

Erika, a former professional chef, lives in New York with her twenty year old cat Kerouac and is currently working on a book of poetry.

Dylan and I went out three times the first week we met. We had a deep chemistry and a bond which I wouldn’t understand until much later. On our second date we were hiking when he told me he used to work in the Trade Center. My heart stopped. “Were you there?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. “I was on the 83rd floor.” I asked him question after question, without giving away my own story. I asked him when he thought he would die. And what it was like to walk down in the darkness. Question after question.

He answered them all. I felt relief somehow hearing him talk about surviving. Later that day I told him about my husband. Dylan said the questions I asked were not like ones anyone had ever asked him before.

Last night for some reason we were talking about 9/11 again. We don’t often. I got really frustrated because I felt like Dylan has this huge disconnect with it. He hasn’t dealt with it at all. Like he doesn’t think it meant anything to him. His life doesn’t seem very important to him. I get that it wasn’t a big deal whether he lived or died, but to smell burning flesh, and be around so many dead people, I have to think that he is disassociating from reality.

We talked about that too. He asked me if I tell people when I meet them about my husband. I said sometimes. I don’t want to. I never lie. If someone asks, I will be open. It comes up more for me than for Dylan. I was in a twelve year relationship so when a new man asks my history sometimes it’s hard to get out of it. For Dylan it’s much easier. he thinks what happened to him is so much less than what happened to me. And that too makes me sad. Because one can’t compare. I lost my soul mate. I have demons dancing in my head. But Dylan, he lived through something I can’t even imagine.

Erika is a professional chef and writer living in Brooklyn with her cat and various thoughts–she is obsessed with Oscar Wilde at the moment.

He wouldn’t have cared, only would have asked that I was sure, he wanted me to be happy, no one got that. I almost killed myself Sept. 28th, but one of us had to show up for the party, and since he was dead, I figured that left me. I wore jean-paul gautier and fuck me red lipstick–we chanted and read poetry–I think he would have loved it–I imagined him smirking that shit eating grin with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth, eyes sparkling–knowing this party was for him.

so yesterday, all these senseless deaths, I went to therapy and told my therapist about it and I felt like it wasn’t true–how could it be–it was too crazy–and on the news at noon they talked about the rain for twenty minutes before breaking the story to talk about the murders–why? I obsessed about this. Was rain more important or did they not know?

I’ve been to VA Tech before. Twenty years ago, when I was in college. And in therapy,

All I could think about, is that another tragedy has happened, and we care for a moment–its on the radar, and then it’s gone. Such a horrible horrible tragedy, and that when my husband was murdered, I felt no one cared, no one but me, and now when things happen we callously live our lives, and no one gives a shit. Just a blip on the screen.

And mental illness, how does it play into this? Why didn’t anyone catch this kid before?

I took a course on suicide prevention twenty years ago. We had to learn about hostage negotiation, and I remember clearly, young men often would engage in situations where they would get themselves killed by guns. Suicide by police firearms basically. I thought of this yesterday. This man wanted to die, why take so many with him? Our system is so fucked up. We spend billions of dollars on wars for oil. We lie to the American people about everything important. I can’t even think about how we could elect Pres Birdbrain–really I can’t. I knew that Iraq wasn’t a threat, sorry anyone with a brain knew that–violence doesn’t beget violence. It won’t bring Jon back. He wouldn’t want others to die bc of his death. Communication and working together are what’s needed. Tell that to birdbrain. Seriously though, mental illness is such a problem and we don’t deal with it.

Drugs, mental illness, the poor, healthcare, family unity, these are the things that need dealing with instead of seeing who has bigger balls–glad you won mr. birdbrain. Does it make you feel like a man? We are so very proud to live under your direction.

My husband died, these students died, and one can only hope that the world will change and learn from tragedy. We have to. I believe this, bc otherwise, there is no point.

Please, listen, learn, grow. Be kind to those around you. Give love and peace where you can.

A little mystery and anticipation is a great thing. I put the ad under “women seeking men.” Hoping to find a decent guy to have some casual sex and a little distraction. I guess I could have put it under “casual encounters,” but, wouldn’t that make me seem a little promiscuous?

I met my ex through Craigslist actually. I put up an ad with me in a police outfit. I looked like hooker. Cocky hips and smirk on face. His was the one response out of over two hundred that I wanted to answer. Words get me every time.

This time the responses were just as overwhelming. Men send a picture of their face or flaccid small penis–no words. Some are married and think that along with being overweight, balding, and unable to spell, I am going to want to sleep with them. Then there are the guys who send bad poetry or a form letter without ever having read the actual ad.

Here are examples of a tame ad:

“everything is giv and take or it will break. I love a challenge not a fight. write back and see where this goes. “

“I am 6’4″ 200lbs dark hair with brown eyes. I am 41 yrs old and run or workout. I work in the Computer dept of a newspaper in brooklyn. Like to go out to restaurant and museums. Also like the beach (Live near Long Island ) and snowboarding. Write back soon X.”

Some guys will send a note in all blue captitals with a phone number which says, “Call me baby.”

A lot of men send pictures with their nephews or mothers. As if I would ever write them back!

Here’s another example of a response: “I have never kissed a woman but I know in my heart you and I are destined to be soul mates. I await your call.”

Or: “I want you to piss in my mouth and treat me like a dog. Tie me up, sit on me, use my mouth as a brush on your toilet. All day at work I have to be in charge. I want a woman to make me submit to her in every way. Take a strap-on and force me to like it.” When I posted the picture of me in the cop’s uniform, at least fifty men told me they wanted me to arrest them. So original.

The great thing about Craigslist is that one can order up virtually anything these days. Friends of mine have “hired” slaves for sex parties. My sister found her roommate there. Need an editor or to hire a van to move you? It’s all there. The beauty of the internet.

Actually I have met many friends through Craigslist. I don’t enjoy clubs and am shy. I like to email but don’t talk on the phone. So it’s a great thing.

But back to the men who answer the ads. They send pictures without even knowing if the person on the other end is real, what gender, anything really. I don’t understand. I think that the sites like this have been the cause for many an affair being found out. Cheating and cheated spouse need only open the email of his/her partner to discover a myriad of telling facts.

This time, out of the plethora of horrid responses, I think I may have found the one for an affair. It’s really not that difficult. Delete, delete, and eventually one will be just fine.