Back to high school

It has been almost 21 years since I graduated from high school and around 7 since I attended the freshman enrollment with Alecia.  Last night I went with Catie and her friend Syrus to Open House at high school and sat through the freshman orientation - I think it has been about 25 years since I had to do that!  I am glad that I wore my sneakers because I was exhausted after 2 hours of walking around the campus.

Catie is nervous but I'm confident she will do just fine.  I can't believe how things have changed in that time span.  Pagers were popular when I was in high school.  I bet they wouldn't even know what a pager was because now they have cell phones and many of them have smart phones.  Later they will each get a laptop assigned to them.  I learned to type on an old fashioned typewriter in typing class.  Again, I suspect that neither of them would have any idea what one was if you showed it to them.

Today is her first day as a freshman in the class of 2016!  Where did the time go?

Another year and another post later...

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).

Happy 4th of July 2011!!!

The Battle of the Thermostat

On a daily basis my family and I disagree over the temperature in the house.  Both Brian and Catie are always cold and I'm always hot.  I don't know if some of it is related to early menopause but if so, I dread to see what is coming down the road.  Sometimes I think about just going to my car to sit so I can enjoy the ice cold air blowing on me.  I'm sure the neighbors would wonder what on earth I was doing but honestly, I don't care.  I could take my knitting, a magazine or a book and just relax in the car.  Of course, the logical part of me knows that isn't a good idea because I'm wasting gas (which has an economic impact, not to mention is costly) but it sure sounds relaxing.

I stumbled across an account written by a fellow survivor from 9/11/01 and thought I'd share it.

55 Flights of Stairs
By Bill Hay

On September 11, 2001 at approximately 8:48 am/et, an evil atrocity against the United States was committed. The responses to these attacks have varied from anger, rage, fear, to uncertainty. Others have responded with acts of compassion and bravery, some sacrificing their own lives to save others. President Bush told the Nation: "We’re at war".

As some of you might know, I witnessed this attack and also was a party to this terrible event. While a U.S. Marine, I had been shot at in three wars and hit in two—at least in those instances I knew who the enemy was. This atrocity was unlike anything I have seen in my 73 years, and God willing I will never have to experience anything like it again. I would like to take this opportunity and means to relate my experiences as they unfolded on 9.11.2001, the day that changed a Nation.

The World Trade Institute (WTI) of Pace University invited me to be a guest lecturer on Mexican Logistics. At 8:30 am/et on September 11, I was standing behind a podium at their facility on the fifty-fifth floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center (WTC) and began presenting an eight-hour seminar. We had just completed self-introductions when suddenly we heard an explosion that was followed by the rocking of the tower. The explosion did not register with me, but the rocking did - first thing that went through my mind was an earthquake. I soon realized that this was not the case when I looked out a window and saw flames and debris falling from the floors above.

My next words were, "Pick up your personal effects and lets get the h*ll out of here!" I did not follow my own instructions. I left my laptop, course outline, and briefcase containing everything I owned of value. Still, I got out with my life, what else could I ask for? Everything else is replaceable.  The class started down the fifty-five flights of stairs along with hundreds of other people. 

There was no panic; people were taking their time and helping those who needed it along the way. At about the thirty-second floor, we met firemen that were on their way up. They were laden with hoses, axes, crowbars, etc. These brave firemen were the first ones to tell us that a plane had hit the building. Somewhere along the way down someone must have opened a water vending machine, because all of a sudden small bottles of water were being passed up and down the stairs. People were taking a sip and then passing it on to the next person. Up until the twentieth floor, the stairwell was full of smoke and some water.

We did not hear the second explosion when the other plane hit the South Tower. It took about thirty minutes to exit the North Tower and get onto the street. Upon exiting this building, we were immediately ushered over to Broadway. It was not until two days later that I found out and I thank the Lord that all my class members and the WTI staff were safe and accounted for.

Once out of the building, I thought I was now out of danger. I was wrong—I then heard another explosion. Looking over my shoulder I saw both towers in flames and a giant ash and debris cloud coming down Broadway at hurricane speeds. I turned down at what I believe to Ann Street in hopes of avoiding the raging cloud. A few minutes later, I was engulfed with ash and debris from the top of my gray hair to the bottom of my cowboy boots. Thank God I wear glasses; they are the only things that saved my eyes. The dust was so thick; I could not see my hand in front of my face. Everything and everybody was coated with a layer of soot.

After what seemed like an eternity, the cloud finally dissipated enough that I could see three men coming towards me. I was informed by one of them that I could not exit that way and would have to go back to Broadway. It was in this street that I met Ellen. I took her in hand and we headed back towards Broadway. Ellen too was in the North Tower and had walked down from the seventy-second floor. When we reached the corner Ann Street and Broadway, a man I assume was the manager of the Starbucks was all but dragging pedestrians off the street and into his coffee shop. He and his associate were providing tap and bottle water, paper towels to clean our faces, plus anything else we may have needed without cost. I will always remember the kindness and generosity of these Starbucks employees.

A short time later, a city bus pulled up in front of the Starbucks. Wanting to see the sun and sky again, Ellen and I got on the crowded bus without any idea as to the destination. The first stop the bus made was at the edge of Chinatown. Not knowing my way around the city, I did not want to get too far from what is now known as "ground zero" so we got off the bus here. It was not more than two minutes later, when a young lady named Pam Lundquist came up to us, saw our appearance and offered the hospitality of her apartment. Over three hours had passed and this was the first opportunity that I had to call and let my wife Mary and my office staff know that I was fine and that I would give them all the details later.

For the next four hours we did little but watch the demise of the World Trade Center on television. Ellen and I were fed and loaned some clothing. Late in the afternoon, Pam and Keith, one of her roommates, escorted us back down to "ground zero" along the river waterfront. By this time the ferryboats were running. We took Ellen to the pier so she could get home to Bayonne, NJ. Pam and Keith then walked me back to my hotel on Gold Street, the Holiday Inn Wall Street. After that, they then had a good five-mile walk back home. Just for the record, Pam Lundquist is my guardian angel. To this day I do not know what I would have done if it had not been for her generosity and kindness.

The scene of lower Manhattan walking up from the river is almost indescribable. The streets were covered with one to four inches of ash and debris. Not a single taxi, bus or automobile was moving on any of the streets. The only things on the roads were emergency vehicles. Your legs were the only means of transportation, and the number of pedestrians could be counted on two hands. Nothing was open. Nothing was moving. This part of the city was dead.

Less than an hour after I got back to my hotel, the power went off. The gas and water were the next to go. Dinner that night was half of a tuna sandwich and a beer that I shared with another hotel guest. On Wednesday morning, the hotel conditions had not improved other than somehow the kitchen staff managed to serve coffee, danish and orange juice. For $9.95, you could have cold cuts, hard rolls, and cold cereal. I passed.

I checked out of the hotel and went looking for better accommodations with two other guests. We walked up to Canal Street, a distance of about three miles. From there, we took a subway up to "Time Square" (Forty-seventh and Broadway) and checked into the Doubletree Hotel.  I spent the better part of the next two days on the phone trying to get a flight back to San Diego. As everyone knows, all the flights were cancelled and the airports were shut down and nothing was moving or flying into or out of New York. I couldn’t even get a phone call through to any living person at the airlines and only got recorded messages telling me what I already knew: "All flights have been cancelled. All airplanes are grounded until further notice."

Around 6:30 am on Friday the 14th, my luck changed for the better. I finally got through to Ms. Irene Baker, an America West agent in Phoenix, AZ and told her my sad tale of woe. Again I received the same response as before - no aircraft are flying in or out of the New York area. Then, I got a great idea: if got down to Philadelphia, could she get me home from there? The answer was yes, but you definitely could not consider it a direct flight. I would leave Philadelphia at 6:47 pm/et and travel by way of Columbus, OH and Las Vegas, NV. I would have to layover in Las Vegas that night and take a 9:10 am/pt to San Diego and home the next morning. After a few minutes of waiting, she was back on the line with confirmations and seat assignments. I was going home.

Ms. Baker called my wife Mary with my itinerary and instructions to call her at her home if I had any problems along the way. I took a quick shower, checked out of the hotel, walked ten blocks in the rain to the Greyhound Bus Depot, and left New York City at 11:30 am on the Philadelphia Express. When I arrived at the Philadelphia station, I crossed the street and took the subway out to the airport. I checked in with America West using only a credit card with my picture on it and a faxed photocopy of my passport the office had sent (the original lies beneath the WTC Tower 1 rubble, along with anything else I had with me on September 11). My bag was inspected by security, I got something to eat, got on board my flight, and began my trip home. Next stop Columbus, then on to Las Vegas. I checked into another Holiday Inn at 11:30 pm/pt that night.

Saturday at 6:30 am/pt, I joined hundreds of other passengers waiting in the America West check-in line. It began outside the Las Vegas International Airport on the street. After two hours I had just gotten inside the terminal building and my flight was scheduled to leave in forty minutes. There were still dozens of people ahead of me in line but I knew I had to do something if I wanted to get on this flight. I walked to the first class check-in agent, gave her my name, and asked her if she could help me. The agent told me not to worry and that they had been looking for me. She assured me that I would get on the flight even if they had to hold it a few minutes (they didn’t need too). Upon arrival in San Diego, I don’t know who was the happiest: Mary and my family or I.

My thoughts and prayers are with everyone affected by this horrible tragedy on September 11, 2001. Thankfully, events of terror like this are infrequent and definitely not "the norm". However, questions will still remain and be asked by many like: Where is God in all of this? How could He allow such evil to happen? Although we do not always understand God’s ways, we can still trust that He is in control of the world. We know that all that happens to us is working for our good if we love God and are fitting onto His plan (Romans 8:28).

Why I like quotes

Normally on a daily basis, I read quotes from a variety of sources.  Some are from www.brainyquote.com and some are from Wisdom News.  I often (almost daily) share them on my Facebook page.  Last night, one of our friends commented that she liked reading them and she appreciated me being so positive because the world needed more positive things in it.  It made me feel good and brought a smile to my face because I've had a few people ask me where I get that 'stuff' from (kind of negatively).  So this morning I was doing some self evaluation trying to decide WHY I actually follow that daily routine.  I guess I decided it's because they make me feel good.  Sometimes, I will read something I don't necessarily agree with or fully understand but I still share them because I think it's thought provoking.  I believe it's important to view things from another person's perspective to help you truly connect and better understand them.

Each of us use 'self-talk' and these give me positive things to do that with.  At some of my deepest, darkest moments on earth, I've relied on quotes, sayings, scriptures, etc. to help me cope with the situation at hand. I have noticed that my daughter does something similar - she finds quotes or lyrics she likes and posts them.

Reflecting upon unanswered questions

I originally posted this on Facebook as a Note on Thursday, May 12, 2011 at 8:20 am:

"Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world." - Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 4:8 (37a)

So, I rarely (if ever) blog or share my personal thoughts but I learned after 9/11/01 it's healthy to do that and can  help.  Sometimes they are so convoluted inside my head that I can't sort them out so that is what I'm going to attempt to do now.  It has been 11 days since I learned of the death of Osama Bin Laden and it has ripped open scars/sores that I had hoped and thought were healed.  I guess ultimately, there is never healing or closure.  The past 2 nights I've tossed and turned and had nightmares, something I haven't had in almost a decade regarding this tragic historical event.  This morning I shed tears as I wonder if the man that I saw lying in the elevator in the lobby of WTC1 (obviously dead) was ever located and identified or is his family still wrestling with his story?  And what about the black female port authority officer that saved my life?  I barely escaped, did she?  I was so frustrated and angered at her for being a *ITCH at the time but upon reflecting, it was her that saved me.  I don't even know her name.  I can't look for her in the memorial because I have no idea who I'm looking for...