Reality and Grief

Please read and digest this article which was written by a psychiatrist who is not part of an anthem-singing and flag-waving mob, who is not easily swayed by group think and herd behavior, who was trained to think dispassionately and to have respect for fact, truths, and logic, and who had some training about how humans think and feel, along with all the trapdoors attendant in those endeavors.

Thinking about human behavior is hard work. Those who think differently only kid themselves. The first thing one should be mindful of in the thinking process about human behavior is one could start with a wrong, off the mark, or insensible premise. That's why open dialogues and discussions about policies and issues in open societies, while time-consuming, tend to lead to fewer costly mistakes compared to decisions made in autocratic societies.

I made so many mistakes in my conceptions and perceptions that it was a miracle that I am still alive and sane. The main reason why I am now sharing my thoughts and ideas publicly is because I would like to benefit from dissenting opinions. Nobody holds a monopoly on truths.

OP-ED CONTRIBUTOR
My Sister, My Grief
By ROBERT KLITZMAN
Published: May 3, 2011

“AFTER someone has been murdered, their family members often feel peace when the murderer has been executed,” a friend called to tell me on Monday. “Do you feel peace?” Another friend asked, “Are you going to dance in the streets now and celebrate?” 

On Sept. 11, 2001, my sister Karen died while working at the World Trade Center.   

In the weeks that followed, my family and I held a memorial service for her, and emptied and sold her apartment. Then, my body gave out. For weeks, I couldn’t get out of bed. I lost all interest in watching TV, listening to music or reading. 

I thought I had the flu, but friends told me my symptoms were all due to grief. I had trained as a psychiatrist, but grief and the sense of dread I experienced were far more physical than I would have ever expected. Over the months that followed, I began to feel better. My friends asked periodically if I’d had closure. But I did not fully. I still felt haunted. My remaining family spent more time together, feeling closer than we had since my sisters and I were children. Every year since, we have gone on long family vacations, and come to appreciate one another more.  We have managed to move on with our lives — though Karen will always remain with us in some way. Then, out of the blue, we learned that Osama bin Laden had died. We were surprised at the large numbers of phone calls and e-mails we received, asking how we felt. We phoned one another. How did we feel?

Decidedly mixed. “It’s anti-climactic,” one of my two surviving sisters said.

Yes, the body of the man who, more than anyone else, had caused my sister’s death 10 years ago was now at the bottom of the sea. I was glad for that, and that Americans were the ones who had found him and ended his life, and that years of planning had finally succeeded. But the news of his death still feels surreal. I realize now how much our loss is both personal and political. I suppose people who ask us about our reactions are often uncertain how to react themselves — how much to celebrate or still fear. But we do not want to be simply emblems of grieving family members. 

Still, I understand that in the chaos of any act of destruction, people need something tangible to hold onto, an embodiment, a story. They need to know who is responsible, and they want to know the responses of those most affected: Have the deaths of 9/11 now been sufficiently avenged? Is it over?

Bin Laden’s death was cathartic — his terrorist attacks traumatized all of us — but in large part it is only a symbolic victory. Al Qaeda may even have more cells and members than it did 10 years ago, though no one knows. Certainly, Islamic extremists are vowing to avenge his death. “An eye for an eye” perpetuates a never-ending cycle of destruction. Dangers continue.   

My family has struggled to adapt and move forward, and so, too, has everyone else. In the past decade, the world has, of course, drastically changed. As a result of the deaths of my sister and the thousands of others at the trade center and Pentagon, George W. Bush invaded Afghanistan, and then under false pretenses invaded Iraq. Thousands of American and foreign soldiers and untold thousands of civilians have been killed or wounded. Politicians have exploited the deaths on 9/11 for their own ends.

When the members of Al Qaeda attacked on 9/11, Americans wondered, “Why do they hate us so much?” Many here believe they dislike us for our “freedom,” but I think otherwise. 

There are lessons we have not yet learned. I feel Karen would share my concerns that underlying forces of greed and hate persevere. American imperialism, corporate avarice, abuses of our power abroad and our historical support of corrupt dictators like Hosni Mubarak have created an abhorrence of us that, unfortunately, persists. We need to recognize how the rest of the world sees us, and figure out how to change that. Until we do that, more Osama bin Ladens will arise, and more innocent people like my sister will die.  

I hope that the death of Bin Laden will bring closure and peace. I am relieved that this chapter is over, somewhat, for me. But I fear the war will not end.

Robert Klitzman is a professor of clinical psychiatry at Columbia and the author of “When Doctors Become Patients.”