That Tuesday.
It was a beautiful day.
Big G had just turned 2 the week before, and it was my dad's (for whom my son is named) birthday. He would have been 60. I felt a fleeting sadness that he wasn't here to see my son... that he had not met my husband... that he never had the chance to see me feeling truly solid about my life. And I wished I could call him and wish him a very happy birthday. I lingered on this for a moment or two and then moved on to matters at hand.
It was a beautiful day.
Big G had just turned 2 the week before, and it was my dad's (for whom my son is named) birthday. He would have been 60. I felt a fleeting sadness that he wasn't here to see my son... that he had not met my husband... that he never had the chance to see me feeling truly solid about my life. And I wished I could call him and wish him a very happy birthday. I lingered on this for a moment or two and then moved on to matters at hand.
As I readied my 2-year old for his first "full" half-day at preschool, I had a lot on my mind. In addition to the bittersweet feelings of my 'baby' heading off to school ... even if just for 4 hours twice a week... and my dad, I was thinking about a dear friend who was in labor, birthing her first child, and our family trip to Maine.
It appeared as if my friend would be delivering on her due date... my dad's birthday. I had told her for months what a special guy my dad was and how auspicious it was that her son was due on that day. I had told her how I had wished Big G had that same birthday because not only my dad but his twin sister were so cool and nice and awesome that it must have something to do with the day :) It was nice for me to be able to balance out the feelings of loss with the great joy of birth.
The prospect of traveling also brought me great joy. I was growing increasingly excited about our trip to Portland, Maine the following day. As Big G was going to be in school for a few hours on this day, I would have time to quickly pack and make our preparations.
As I was loading my big boy into his car seat, our neighbor came out to the street. Something was wrong, I could tell by the shell-shocked expression on his face.
"Did you hear? Did you see?..." his voice trailed off.
"What's wrong? Is everything okay?" I asked.
"No, no," he said. "The planes just crashed... they just crashed into the World Trade Center... and the Pentagon...it's on t.v.... oh, right... you guys don't have t.v.... you have to come see or you won't believe it... I don't believe it..."
And we followed him into his house and watched. Stunned. It must be fake. How could someone do that? How could that happen? I truly thought it was some weird, twisted stunt. And I had to get my kid to school and check in with my friend and get ready for my trip to Portland, Maine...
Interesting how we often start grasping at minutia when faced with monumental tragedies our brains struggle to comprehend.
I was in total denial.
I took my son to school, and I went that whole day thinking I needed to get ready for our trip to Portland, Maine the following day. If it was real, I said to myself, this would be the safest time to fly because they wouldn't do that two days in a row. Good Lord. Delusion and denial. Brain operations shut down.
It took about a week before the reality finally hit me. A week. And no trip to Maine.
As the official reports and the footage and the personal stories poured out, I read and watched and listened. My husband drove around for at least a month, gathering every different newspaper to read all the write-ups, hoping to make sense of it. But there was and is no sense to be made.
It was senseless.
Every year since then I work to not dwell on the tragedy. I remember and and honor and reflect upon those who lost their lives or love ones and those whose lives were damaged by the horrific events that took place on September 11, 2001. And I celebrate the birthday of my friend's son and my aunt and revel in the joy that is life.
This year on September 11, I will give thanks that I am here, that I am alive, that I am whole. I will be grateful that my loved ones are close to me, whether physically or spiritually. I will remember and honor and reflect upon what transpired 10 years ago... and I will run.
I have joined the dailymile.com event... Run 11 miles on 9/11/11.
"10 years later, we remember like it was 10 hours ago."
Where were you then? And where will you be now?
Where were you then? And where will you be now?
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linking this post up with MamaKat's Writing Workshop.
