Ten years ago today I was moving out of my “starter” house, into a larger and grander home. I was comfortable in the land of opportunity, untouched by economic depression, a stranger to terrorism and secure in the optimistic beliefs and entitled expectations that most people of my generation who attended great schools and worked hard shared. We’d certainly do better than our parents. We’d do great. The world was ours. What could go wrong?
I was already a young parent myself and at that moment, I was making myself crazy. Losing myself in choosing the minutest features for my home. The home where we’d raise our young girls. Everything had to be perfect. Flooring, fixtures, tiles were only the tip of the iceberg. The outlets had to be in all the right places. The woodwork in each room deserved special consideration. We had to think about all these things. We had to have a long term PLAN.
On the a.m. of our move out of the starter home, I was already packed and prepared. Boxes were labeled with what room they’d end up in at the new house when it was done, some going to storage and some to our temporary apartment. I’d organized so completely that our old house was rendered uninhabitable. We spent the night before the trucks arrived at my parent’s place . The girls slept peacefully in my parent’s guest room and my husband at I camped on the rollaway in the den.
I was dead tired from the packing and anxious about the move. When the phone rang at 6 am, I floated in an instant of complete disorientation. I had no idea who or where I was. What day was it?
But there was something I knew on a deeper lever. Something was wrong. Very wrong. What was wrong?
Here is how I remember it. Phone ringing. Couch? Green? Scratchy blanket. Someone sleeping beside me. Remote in the bed. Right. Parents house. TV. Turn on the tv…
Hushed voiced filtered in from the next room, asking questions. But we were already awake by then, watching the horror unfold.
Later I would feel disoriented again. Disoriented by the small things: Would the movers even come? Should I take my daughter to preschool? But that dreamlike sense of confusion and unreality that I’d woken with was still there too: Where was I? What day was this? Who was I?
Calls filtered in from east coast friends and family and we braced for the inevitable news of husbands, brothers, and cousins lost.
I don’t remember the week that followed. We were zombie version of our formerly hopeful selves. We didn’t lose our loved ones or our homes on Sept 11, 2001. But we lost our youth, our security, our belief that something like that couldn’t happen here, to people like us. I never finished the plans for the woodwork. I can’t tell you where the outlets in my house are, even after living here for a decade. Never where I need them to be but I manage.
Turns out that stuff, just doesn’t matter. But other stuff, other plans? Other things matter so much more.
We’re not the same people we were on September 10, 2o01. We’ll never be those people ever again.
It’s been on my mind so much this week. Who we were and who we are now. As individuals, as a community. How have the events of 10 years ago shaped our journey?
Last spring, one of the friends I spent the days following 9/11/01 with passed away in a sudden freak accident. A loving mom of two kids, I remembered spending the aftermath of this day with her, in tears. We tried to make sense of it all and threw our hands up with the impossibility of that task, saying the obvious “you never knows”. We’d said that a million times before. This time though, we believed it. It’s poignant today, as I remember her, remember that week.
I’m conscious of such things now, more than ever. And I’m twitchy this week. Hyper vigilant. As I send my husband off on a business trip, I think of the husbands that were flying that day.
Things hit me differently. Not just me. When a random power outage suddenly left our community and millions of other SDG&E customers without power on Thursday, my mind went straight back to 9/11/01. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one. The complete lack of cell phone service, circling helicopters, and chaotic exodus to flee our community told the story of the panic all around me. People were freaking out. People were thinking about 9/11/01, and the nuclear power plant near here. If they said they weren’t they were lying.
Despite the panic, it wasn’t a serious emergency. It was a wake up call though. Perhaps we’ve grown too comfortable.
So I’m planning again. Not for outlets or woodwork. For power outages and earthquakes. For the things I once couldn’t conceive of happening to me.
But here’s the caveat. Although I feel the need to be prepared for disaster, I cannot let it get the best of me.
When the power went out, I lit my candles. I poured a glass of wine. It was hot so I opened a window for the fresh air. I listened for the sounds of the night. Sounds that are usually drowned out by air conditioning and television. I was delighted to discover that one of my neighbors is a classical violinist. She/he played me to sleep on a darkened night that wasn’t so dark after all.
I’ll never know the person I would have been if 9/11/01 never occurred, or the world that would have been or the community that would have existed around me. I’m different but the same. I’m still a planner. I’m planning to be prepared in the ways that I can be. I can’t obsess about the ways that I cannot. I think of the past, of my friend whose life was cut short too soon and feel a duty enjoy the here and now, even when it’s not so perfect.
My young son’s dirty feet and bruised shins and pocketfuls of sand don’t spoil the joy of their double cheeked kisses and lovingly plucked flowers for mommy. My bickering teen/tween daughters may steal my makeup and hairbrushes and flit between wanting to kill me and kill each other. But when we curl up on the couch all together with a tub of popcorn and a great flick, I cannot help but feel that they are the greatest company I can possibly imagine or wish for.
I am so fortunate. I am so lucky. I’m still here. In this moment.
beautiful, so so beautiful. that day has changed us all. xo