Ground Zero Memorial

I didn't cry.  I thought I would cry, but I didn't.

I just stared at the waterfall with dry eyes.  I ran my fingers over the names and admired the petals on the red roses standing erect in their slots on the memorial.  Some had fallen down, and some of the roses had started to wilt.  And still not a tear.

The engraved names struck me, but what struck me the most was the unborn children that died in the twin towers.  I forgot about pregnant women, women like Deanna.  The woman's partner not only lost his or her significant other but also the baby that they made together.  The man or woman went from a growing family to planning two funerals.  I guess I shouldn't assume. That might be Deanna's story, but there is a chance her situation was completely different.

I feel so guilty for not crying.  Maybe it was the construction, maybe it was the airport-like security screening before entering the memorial, or maybe 11 years is enough time to heal.  Or maybe I just wasn't close enough to the tragedy.  I was closer than some, but maybe that wasn't close enough.

Why can I cry, though, when I watch, say, Private Practice, but not when I'm face-to-face with the deep holes where two buildings and close to 3,000 people once stood?