On September 11^th

It is 4:00 a.m. and my two and half year old son Will is crying out for his mommy. My wife and I awaken and agree Will is aptly named. She has a strained back muscle, so I offer to get the little bruiser. As soon as I lift him, his crying stops. He has nestled his head against my chest as I settle the two of us into the rocker. Sometimes daddies can be good mommies too.

In the darkness and still of this predawn hour, my thoughts turn to a discussion group I participated in at the meeting of the American Psychoanalytic Association, the day before. It was the first of a series of informal “drop-ins” addressing the September 11^th attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon—an addition to the meetings, thanks to Dick Fox and Stuart Twemlow, Chair of the Committee on Psychoanalysis in the Community. It was precisely 100 days since 9/11 and a group of about 15-20 of us spoke about what we, as analysts, could offer, and how we, as individuals, were affected. I colead the group with Sallye Wilkinson and Henri Parens.

We spoke about the unique listening skills of the analyst—the capacity to help others mourn, face their worst fears, and confront their anger. We spoke about the analyst's appreciation for how current trauma links to the past—how primitive unconscious thought, emotions, and imagos are stirred up by events so horrible we often call them “unspeakable.” We heard from analysts in Melbourne and Amsterdam about how they and their patients were affected by the attacks in the U.S., yet learned that in Chapel Hill, N.C., denial seemed to be the predominant coping mechanism. We spoke of our children's reactions to world events, and we spoke about how we, as caregivers, need support for ourselves.

At 4:00 a.m. with my son in my arms, I am thinking a lot about holding. I have always been a fan of Winnicott's notion of a “holding environment.” I have written before in this journal about how a day treatment program for the homeless can serve this “holding” function. I of