Don't stop to pee in Coeur d'Alene

The 45-60 minutes it takes one to drive through the Idaho panhandle should be executed with efficiency, a full tank of gas and an empty bladder. Do not be fooled by the stunning beauty of these mountain roads; the rule is, haul ass. If you lose your mind and stop the car, you will be surrounded by insane bigots and scarificed to Richard Butler, president of the Aryan Nation, which was headquartered in Hayden Lake, Idaho (a mere 8 miles off I-90 in the panhandle).

Now, I didn't come up with this on my own. Other people warned me of the certain death I would face unless I drove like hell. In 1994 I had to pee in Coeur d'Alene and got a taste of what they were talking about.

But I made that same trip, from Minnesota to Seattle, about ten days after 9/11. The experience was completely different. There was a sense of camaraderie; a gentleness of spirit, like wounds were healing. How pleasant.

Unfortunately it did not last. And for some, it was not pleasant at all. Yes, we were all brothers and sisters, unless we happened to be Muslim or of Middle Eastern descent. Those communities were terrorized in the days, weeks, months and years following 9/11.

Today, I know a lot of people are remembering the lives lost that day. They are quick to recall where they were, how they felt, what they did next, etc. But today, I'm remembering how far we have NOT come.

I'm angry today. I'm angry that so many people died. I'm angry that so many people will be forever deeply scarred by the things they witnessed and the terror they felt that day.

But I'm really angry that we seemed to have learned nothing. There are countless opinions about whether or not we're any safer from attacks; about the strength and preparedness of our military; about our ability to respond quickly and appropriately should this ever happen again. But we continue, seemingly unchecked, to treat each other like garbage, and to throw blame in all the wrong fucking directions.

The biggest tragedy of all, in my opinion, is that we didn't learn a goddamned thing from September 11, 2001. Cultural change is difficult, to say the least. We appear to have a very high learning curve. I wonder what it will take to change us. Or if we can change at all.

Everything is going to be ok

Hi Steph.

It's barely 6am on September 2, 2011, and I am awake. Which, on a normal Friday, would be fine. But I don't have to work today. I should be asleep, dreaming of puppies and rainbows. I never dream of such pleasant things but hey...it could happen.

Five years ago today, your father called to tell me you'd passed. I knew it was coming but that didn't make it any easier.  I had to go to this asshole's birthday dinner and sit there, trying to make sense of the fact that people were still doing things like having birthday dinners when the world as I knew it had dramatically shifted. Of course, I drank my ass off. I wandered the streets of Uptown, blindly shitfaced, sobbing. I was so angry. Angry that you died, angry that I couldn't seem to handle it. Eventually, I passed out and spent the next day in bed, nursing a hangover.

I'm sure that's what you would have wanted.

You were so good, Stephanie. So funny, so smart. Such a delicate looking woman who was tough as shit. And I was such a fucking baby, using your death as an excuse to continue to act like a child, continue destroying my life. Life! I had life and you no longer did and there I was, pissing it away.

So many times over the past five years, when I've been in a state of hopelessness, deeply depressed and unable to find my way out...I've thought of you. I thought of you and I knew instantly that this is not what you would have wanted for me. I know you're watching over me, dude. I'm sure of it. More sure than I have ever been of anything.

The way you handled illness with such stunning grace and acceptance floored me. You never seemed angry or sad. I'm sure you were from time to time. But I remember being in the bathroom with you at The Red Dragon. We were there with friends and I was happy to have a few minutes alone with you. You stood looking in the mirror, fixing your hair, and you were the most calm I had ever seen you. Your enormous eyes were bright and a small, satisfied smile played on your lips.

You were at peace.

I think of that moment all the time. That incredible place of stillness in your heart and mind. I knew looking at your face in that moment that all you felt was love. That's how I imagine you are now. Probably without the mirror, and good fucking God, I pray you're not trapped in the bathroom at The Red Dragon, which is a fate worse then any hell I can imagine.

I know you're all around the people you love. And for me, you bring peace, grace, unconditional love and the very real feeling that everything is going to be ok.

I love you.