It is that time of year again, when the bustle and hurried ways begin. As I was driving home from dropping Catie off at her Dad's it dawned on me that summer was coming to a close and it is the time of year for the chaos to start. As emotions swirled around and tears rolled down my cheeks, I thought that when I got home I'd do some 'blogging' (something I've planned to do over and over but just never get around to doing for various reasons). I just now logged in and realized that it has been just a little over a year since I last made an entry on here. I guess that goes to show that this time of year really impacts me.
As I drove I realized that it is August 19, 2012. My daughter just turned 15, she's getting ready to take the written test for her driver's (learner's) permit, starting high school and my granddaughter is starting kindergarten this year. Wow! Where does the time go?
The thoughts raced through my mind, it is nearly September 11, 2012 and while that is merely a date on a calendar for most people it has had such a profound impact on my life that it is difficult at times to articulate it. At times I've had that defiant, challenging, rebellious streak in me that says, "no, I'm not going to let this be such a defining moment in my life. I control me and my life and that isn't the way it is supposed to play out" but in the end, it comes back full circle to reality. What is that reality? Well, I guess I summarized it best when someone asked me to describe my experience on September 11, 2001 in 1 sentence (for a grade school class). My reply was, "On September 11, 2001, I got to experience the beauty and destruction of humanity while witnessing history all in the same day."
You spend your life wondering what it is like when you die, or at least I'd thought about it many times prior to September 11, 2001. When you are faced with it though, it is different. There is no more time to think about it and wonder because - BAM - it's in your face and you get to deal with it. It is about playing the hand that is dealt to you (because you never know what your cards are going to be) and playing it to the best of your ability.
I would have given anything on that September morning for my phone to work. I longed to call my Mom and asked to speak to my daughter (although she was only 4 at the time) to tell her I loved her one last time. God had different plans though. He wasn't going to let me make that phone call because though it's tough to admit at times, he knew better than I did. He knew that once I made the phone call, I would stop to rest and it would cost me precious seconds and my life.
I remember when I got back to Kansas City and returned to work a co-worker said to me, "God must really have some big plans for you." Still in a fog I didn't know what to think when she said it because I was horrified by what had occurred. Looking back 11 years, I believe she was correct.
In the last 11 years I have held my grandmother's head while she took her last breath, nearly lost my stepson (Casey) in a car accident and helped Catie make it through her father's brain tumor surgeries. I helped my sister plan my brother-in-law's unexpected funeral, watched my husband struggle with his own health issues and become disabled, changed the industry my career was in, and watched my step children (Kevan and Alecia) grow up and leave home. I've had the opportunity to hold my grandchildren (Nate and Lacey), locate and meet my 'other' half-sister after 30+ years, to experience the love of all of my nieces and nephews, and countless other things. Most of all, I've got to spend 11 more years with my family and friends on this earth.
On Friday, I found some old family photos from when Catie was much smaller and we looked through them. I didn't realize that it was upsetting her (or I wouldn't have done it of course) to see the photos because it brought up so many difficult memories. As she saw photos I'd taken of much happier times when her father was physically able to play with she and Casey the reality set in. Then when we got to photos of her with her brother and cousins (one of which died unexpectedly on Christmas) more sadness. As I drove home this evening I realized that God's big plans for me were to help Catelyn get through the last 11 years (and many more to come).
As I drug myself down the stairwell in September I knew that all of my other family and friends would be okay without me. While they would miss me I had a peace and calm in my heart and soul that everything would eventually be alright for them. But for Cate, she wouldn't have her Mom to help her grow up. I knew that she'd be taken care of but it was a different kind of concern and worry. I knew that she would have a hole in her heart that no one could fix. Having suffered from severe endometriosis, it was a miracle that she was even here. I had tried so hard to have a baby and was about to lose what I'd worked so hard to get. It was that determination and bond that forged me to continue on.
In the beginning it was really difficult for me to identify myself as a 9/11 Survivor. I really wanted to move on with my life and try to put it behind me. I wanted no part of being labeled a victim and have always chosen survivor. As time has passed though, I think I've learned how to embrace it and make the most of it, as difficult as it may be at times. I am not one to be in the spotlight, I don't like it and never have. I am at peace doing my work and blending it without having attention called to me. I've struggled many times with the attention (it was a tragedy on a horrific scale) which is something that I don't articulate well, often share nor is there a handbook to help me with this.
What I've found to work the best though is to make the negative, horrible experiences into positive ones where I learned something and to try to share that knowledge with others. I learned a lot that day. I didn't realize it at the time and it has taken over a decade to learn and for me to let it sink in but I did. I've learned that everyone remembers that day and where they were. I have learned that everyone wants to share it with me (this is something my husband has helped me to realize). With my personality, I want to shield them from the pain, anguish and devastation I felt (because I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy) but I know their thirst for knowledge and my obligation to history and my community trumps it.
So while I usually would rather throw up than stand and speak to a group of strangers recanting the worst day of my life in detail (sometimes graphically when asked) I smile and seek spiritual guidance, courage, and inspiration to share my story. Over the years many people have thanked me and told me what an inspiration I was to them personally which lets me lay my head on the pillow at night and sleep well. While I still haven't found the answer to my own questions about why such evil exists in our world and how anyone can behave that way, I do feel like I'm contributing positively and know that in the end, goodness (the light) triumphs over evil (the darkness).
For a long time it was difficult for me to call myself a "survivor" because it felt as though I was cheating. In fact, it still does. I know I was on the Plaza when Building 2 was hit, I know I heard the screams and saw the broken glass, papers and pieces of metal falling, saw the flames tear into the clear blue sky, ran and ran and ran ... yet I don't feel like an authentic "survivor" because I never made it into the building. I arrived at work after Building One was burning and the guards wouldn't let me inside. I remember arguing with a stubborn member of the PAPD, silently cursing him for blocking my way. Years later, I tried to track him down and thank him for saving my life. I never made contact, but learned he had retired to Florida. I think of him and hope he is OK. Every time we lose another hero, another of the men and women who helped us, I feel another little crack in my heart.
ReplyDeleteI don't think you are alone. Over the years I have heard many that have said the same thing, some have become good friends of mine. I have learned that the term "survivor" encompasses everyone from bystanders to evacuees. There was a gentleman from the Kansas City area that was on business and wasn't in the buildings, he was hit by debris and later passed away. It doesn't make him any less of a "victim" than the others that perished inside the buildings that day. Last year for the 10th anniversary I spoke to our local community including our fire department. I was brought to tears seeing them in their gear because like you I feel that little crack in my heart each time we lose another one of the heros that helped us that day. This morning I read (and posted on my FB page) something quite profound that made me think immediately of our heros, "You have never really lived until you have done something for someone who can never repay you."
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