Columnist Susan Snyder: There are no words to describe the grief

Saturday, Sept. 15, 2001 | 7:36 a.m.

Susan Snyder's column appears Fridays, Sundays and Tuesdays. Reach her at snyder@lasvegassun.com or 259-4082.

IT'S BEEN FIVE DAYS, but I'm betting there still are no words.

As I write this, Tuesday morning's horrors are unfolding on the televisions flipped on throughout our office.

I was going to call the National Park Service on another topic, but that seemed inappropriate. Discussion of anything else seems inappropriate.

And discussion of the tragic events at hand come hard, for there are no words.

President George W. Bush showed us that when he made his first statement about the incident from the Sarasota, Fla., elementary school where he was scheduled to speak.

Minutes before both World Trade Center towers collapsed into dust Bush vowed to "hunt down the folks responsible" for the acts. His words lacked polish.

But for once, I couldn't blame the man for inept oratory skills. He was visibly shaken, as we all were. The right words wouldn't come. Maybe there weren't any.

There probably still aren't.

Every time I tried to move away from the television long enough to iron a work shirt or grab a cup of coffee, something else happened.

A second aircraft flew into view and crashed into the other tower as we watched. The first tower collapsed as we watched. Then the second. Then another plane crashed into the Pentagon, and then one crashed outside Pittsburgh. We soon saw footage of those places too.

The immediacy of television made it look like clips from a Lucas film.

The lack of words made it real.

I moved everything into the living room -- hair dryer, ironing board, coffee pot and the basket of clothes that needed folding.

I flipped among three television networks. I channel-surfed AM news radio stations all the way to work. Then I sat dumbfounded beneath the television suspended on the wall next to my desk and watched the disaster unfold again and again.

Not since the Challenger space shuttle exploded overhead as I watched with my coworkers from the rooftop of our Florida newspaper office have I had so few words.

So instead of calling the park service about burros in Death Valley, I called people who know my voice. Mom. My big brother.

How lucky it is to have people who know you by the sound of your voice especially when you don't have anything to say, and when a familiar voice is all you really want to hear.

They agreed. There were no words for them either.

"This can't happen here." Oklahoma City's bombing showed us it can.

"Heightened security" won't always protect us.

"Military intelligence" can be stumped.

By now we've analyzed and discussed all measure of possible motivations and recorded countless reactions. Maybe we even have pinpointed who is responsible and taken retaliatory action.

But I'm betting we still don't have the words.

This kind of atrocity doesn't happen here often enough for us to have them.

And so many people in this world can't say the same thing.

For us, there are no words.

For that, we should be grateful.