Where we you?
I was in the bathtub, in Dad’s first apartment after the divorce. I was annoyed when Dad yelled through the door that he was turning on my tv because something had happened on the news. I got out, and then walked into my bedroom and stared. The tv was on top of my dresser, the blond one I’d had since I was a kid. It was set to images of the two large buildings in New York. One of them had flames shooting out the side. And all of a sudden, as I was watching, something flew into the screen and hit the other building. More flames, falling debris.
And then it hit them. Something bigger was happening. Not an accident, a plan.
September 11th wasn’t all bad. Two very important people were born that day. Emma and John are six today. Little babies who didn’t know what was happening to the rest of the world were in their own fight for survival. They’ll hear about it, and they’ll understand, eventually. They’ll see that somehow they emerged from that day as a sign of hope for the people who knew them, or who knew of them. Even though they are separate from the events that took place, they will always be associated with that day. It’s the circle of life: death and then birth. Or rather, birth, and then death. But it’s not quite that simple. It’s hope, and pain, and beauty, and the fight for something as important as life.
So Happy Tuesday. May you see beauty somewhere in the world today.
Where we you?