After the Fall

by Dean Kramer 
October, 2001


This month I feel totally uninspired as far as amusing tales of life with MS are concerned. I'm sure readers will understand why. Since the events of September 11th many people have felt a deep sorrow. I am among them.

On the day of the service in the National Cathedral I went to my own place of worship. No one else was there and I sat in the sanctuary and cried. I can't even begin to imagine the terror felt by the people in the buildings or on the airplanes. I can't imagine the desperation and, later, grief felt by those losing loved ones even as they spoke on cell-phones.

I wept for the lost innocence of our nation's people. We had, as a people, a national character formed, to some extent, by our security— our distance from hostile powers and our essentially egalitarian society. We'd been described by other nations as bumptious, gregarious, (too) open, greedy, and self-centered. We were like children, assuming everyone loved us, not understanding when they did not, egocentric and greedy not in an evil way but in the innocent way of children. As a nation we will never be that carefree again. I am not saying this is good or bad. I don't know how to value it. But it is a loss. And while we are being encouraged to toughen up and dig in for a protracted "war on terrorism" I expect we may also need to grieve our lost innocence just as any child traumatized by assault would need to do.

After I left my place of worship I went to the local Wal-Mart to buy some much-needed household items. While I recognized the solemnity of the day, stores were open and I wanted to combine trips. I try to do as many things as possible when I'm out and about so as to more efficiently utilize my limited energy. It was a national Day of Mourning, but my critters needed to be fed and other, more personal matters needed seeing-to. Our Wal-Mart has television monitors hanging from the ceiling throughout the store. Usually the programming consists of advertisements for store-products. On this day, however, the monitors were showing the service in the cathedral. All over the store were teary clumps of customers and employees gazing up at the monitors with rapt attention. Other employees were at their registers or were stocking shelves in a desultory way. And, here and there, a lone customer sadly trundled a cart in an aisle. Trundling my own cart I found the dog food I needed and then I went to the toilet paper aisle (as I wrote, "other, more personal matters") The aisle containing toilet paper is 30 feet long and 11 feet high (at least.) I can't begin to count the brands and qualities of the paper sold there. There are double rolls, triple rolls, two-ply and single-ply, quilted, scented, unscented, with aloe, in 8, 12, 16, and 24-packs. We live in a country that offers us umpteen-gazillion choices of toilet paper!

And I thought about the people in Afghanistan, who have nothing left after years of strife and violence. I don't imagine they are concerned over the quality of their toilet paper. I don't even know if they have toilet paper available to them. I thought about what had happened in New York City and Washington D.C.— all those people, gone forever, who had gotten up that morning and used a toilet paper of their choice. I stood in the aisle at Wal-Mart paralyzed by the sheer number of offerings, unable to decide, still grieving our nation's lost innocence. And as I stood there someone in the National Cathedral began singing The Lord's Prayer. This pretty much undid me. I hastily chose a package. I didn't look to see what brand it was, how many rolls were in it, or what sort of rolls they were. I felt ridiculous. I also felt completely, typically, even quintessentially American. I paid for my purchases at a register manned by an employee seemingly distracted by sorrow, and came home to Cripple Creek.