Still hope for a truly new normal

And so we have remembered.

In Arlington Heights, we stood with The Children of Abraham Coalition under baby blue skies and spoke of tolerance and understanding.

In Elgin, we, adult and child together, took part in a collaborative concert of orchestra and voice, symphony and song.

In Hampshire, we marched in a silent parade.

In Palatine, Mundelein, Des Plaines and elsewhere we touched and marveled at pieces of girder and other artifacts from the horror of ground zero.

In Naperville, we listened as Cmdr. Dan Shanower and others killed in the attacks were celebrated by those who knew them.

In Glen Ellyn, we gave blood at a mosque. In Wheeling, we watched students perform a play. In Antioch, we lit candles.

All across the suburbs, indeed all across the nation, we prayed, sang songs, raised flags, cried and hugged, and at noon we set everything aside for a minute of silent reflection.

So, now what?

That is the question that lurks beneath all our remembrances and must stare us starkly in the face with them behind us. What do we do now that we have cried and sang and prayed together, now that we have remembered?

Here is one answer: We begin anew on the 10th anniversary of another significant day in the life of America — Sept. 12, 2001, the day we took the first tentative steps away from sorrow-filled shock of the previous day and toward what we then called “the new normal.”

It took a while — though in retrospect, perhaps not as long as one might hope — but eventually we would find that the new normal was not so new after all. It too is filled with anger and political discord, just like the old normal. It too is marked by distrust and suspicion, often even greater than before Sept. 11. It too is tainted with bluster and false promises, faded dreams and unrealized hopes.

To some extent, these disappointments can be reassuring. They demonstrate that despite the blow we suffered, we have not lost our humanity. We are not perfect, but neither are we emotionless automatons. We lost some innocence, sure, but we did not lose our hearts, our passion or our spirit. Now, the question is, how will we use that spirit?

Let’s hope that we use it to steer us toward a truly new normal, one with less animosity and more fellowship, one that honors these words from Vadim Lovinsky, of Vernon Hills, who barely escaped with his life from the 61st floor of the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001: “I just hope that we ... remember how strong we were during that point of time and ... find that strength again to basically move on for better times, because we will endure.”

Enough said.