Thirteen years ago today... I had just dropped Riley off at Calvary. It was only the second or third week of 1st grade, and I was already sad about her being away from me. Ethan and I were headed home, him strapped into his car seat, probably hoarding the last bite of whatever he ate for breakfast, skoaled away between his cheek and gum, me driving in silence. A few minutes from home, I turned on the radio. It took a few moments to process what I heard. I pulled over into a parking lot, because I couldnt focus on the road. Was there another World Trade Center, in some other far-off country, someplace where things like this actually happened? I drove home-- I had to, I couldnt sit in the parking lot all day. I grabbed the phone, hurried to my bedroom, turned on the television. It was horror. Charlie and Katie were visibly distressed-- and they were professional news personalities; if they were worried, then it was bad. I called my husband. Yeah, my boss said something about it. Theyre all in the breakroom watching tv. Why wasnt he watching? Meh. Its no big deal. He hadnt heard about the second plane. He still thought it was a case of autopilot-gone-wrong. I called my sister, Courto Paradise Getlin. We sat mostly in a tear-filled silence separated by two counties, punctuated with gasps. She looked down and realized that she was holding the coffee mug my husband had given her after his trip to NY just a month earlier-- emblazoned with the silhouette of the Twin Towers. I realized that my husband had been there just a month earlier, and I cried harder. I realized that a FEMA facility sat between me and Rileys school. I envisioned the chaos spreading, tanks patrolling the streets, lockdowns and curfews, men in uniforms telling me I couldnt get to my child. I called my friend, Nancy Laxineta Madwin. I asked her if she thought I would be overreacting if I drove the 25 minutes back to Rileys school and just waited in the parking lot until school was out. She said Go. I did. Her class was on the lawn for PE when I arrived in the parking lot. She saw me pull in, stood with her head cocked, wondering why I was there. I waved her back to the group. I unbuckled Ethan, let him wander around the back seat, oblivious to my somber mood. I kept the radio on and the window half-down. I listened for helicopters and jets and tanks. PE ended, and the children went back to class, Riley casting backward glances. The space between my Pathfinder and her 1st grade classroom was a gulf of what ifs. I dont remember how much longer we waited. But I wasnt leaving my child, not on that day, not on September 11, 2001. On the drive home, Riley-- ever my empath, ever my comforter-- noticed my tear-stained face, my reddened eyes. How do you explain terrorism to a 6 year-old? How do you tell your child the truth about something like that without robbing them of their innocence? I managed some vague answer about bad people far away, I suppose. But she is always the nurturer. A sad heart is a magnet for her, a static she cannot tune out, and I know she didnt quite believe me. The rest of the day, my children played in the living room. They played as if the world wasnt burning down around them. I imagine she put on her sweats and became Ethans horse, guided by mardis-gras bead reins in her brothers hands. Or maybe she became Ariel, complete with red wig and tail, while Ethan transformed into Tarzan or Peter Pan or Spiderman. Their world was still safe, held together by imagination and love and trust. I felt the ends of that safety net turning to dust as I struggled to hold on. I knew the world I raised my children in had forever changed....
Posted on: Thu, 11 Sep 2014 15:35:14 +0000
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