Reminded of Moose

Every day is another lesson learned. I make more mistakes than most, these are just my thoughts… David Moose Fraser was way more than a classmate, Sex-o-let or cautionary tale for beach goers. Those labels were a speck on one of his lovely eyelashes as to who he was in his lifetime. To look at him, or any of us, in the end, through one of those myopic lenses sells us all short. He was a funny, thoughtful person with aspirations, hopes and doubts who surely thought, like most of us, that he had time to wrangle the ends in his life that may have felt loose.

To see posts of the news story of his death irks me (again, my thoughts/opinion). Granted, I found a local Outer Banks article and sent it to the couple people I asked about what happened who had shared unsure peripheral stories. We all want answers for something so unforeseen, shocking and tragic. To share those publicly though, paints Moose as 49 yr old, David Fraiser (his name is not even spelled right) from Fredericksburg, VA. We know he was not “from” VA. One of these stories even said “adult man dies in 4 ft of sand”, the wording of that completely offended me.

Me, who on reading about his death on FB was suddenly reminded of him and searched my inbox for his old emails with a heavy heart while regretting lost touch. So, I cannot imagine how those that figured in his life daily, loved him dearly and prayed they’d never have to say a last goodbye to him must feel about these impersonal postings.

I sometimes think a better use of birthday wishes in social media would be to tell that person what we would miss most about them. Too late, but… Rest in love, Moose Fraser, I’ll miss your genuine laugh, annoying politics, unearthly blue starburst eyes, encouragement of my writing and that I didn’t know you better.



2013-09-11 15.07.54

(I’ll) never forget… the fiery, unbelievable sight; the horrific realization of the 2nd plane hit; the despondent and thoroughly powerless feeling while watching it burn; the rumbling sound of collapse and collective “oh my god’s” that rose from the surrounding roofs watching open-mouthed, teary-eyed and incredulous; the sickening slap in the face (by reality) on waking Sept 12 2001; the fully-staffed hospitals poised for a recovery influx that never came; the need to repetitively watch replays and coverage in helpless detail to “understand” the unfathomable; the acrid smell that cloaked us in poisonous exhaust for months; the leadened dust, blasted out windows, annihilated car shells and wafting office debris that morphed downtown into a post-apocalyptic wasteland; the heart-wrenching  “missing” photos of beloved ghosts posted in the subways;  the uncertainty that dogged one like a malevolent shadow through the streets and turned entering Grand Central into a psychological challenge; the fruitless hours standing in line of desperately eager volunteers at the Javits Center; the thoughtful shrines outside the grieving firehouses; the clapping and sign-waving encouragement of the supportive crowds along the West Side highway creating a parade-like atmosphere for those unwittingly sacrificing their lungs to the clean-up effort…  knowing no matter how many years pass, it would be impossible to forget.  9/11 — most certainly not forgotten.