Sunday Sept. 9th, 2007, marks the 6th anniversary of my mother's death, and Monday Sept. 11th the anniversary of the unthinkable on the morning of her wake. I publish here a piece I wrote when all of that was still raw in Oct. 2001, because I was drawn to pull it out of old files today. Re-reading it made me realize the strength and depth of those infrequent and life-changing emotions.
September 11th 2001A burning building filled the screen, Live Action; NBC News, remained unmoving in one corner, 10:32am in another.
“What happened I asked?” concern creeping in.
“It’s the Pentagon, a plane crashed into it,” a voice answered.
“What!” I blurted incredulously, eyes frozen on the screen.
“Yea, didn’t you hear about the twin tours?” another voice asked.
At that instant the screen switched to the shocking images of the previous 90 minutes: a twin tower on fire, a plane crashing into another, the first tumbling impossibly to the ground, then horrifyingly, the second following suit. I don’t know how much time elapsed the first time, but in two minutes of repeated footage I was supposed to assimilate the unimaginable. The bizarre series of events were unfolded for us by the news reporters, the others in the room, a local fireman who came in behind us.
My thoughts scrambled to grasp it, “these are special effects, scenes from Hollywood, someone is pulling a macabre joke like the Orson Wells’ radio hoax in 1939 when Martians were supposedly invading the earth, but who would or could? or why would they? This is too unreal to be unreal”.
The momentary isolation I had built around myself disintegrated and I looked at my brother and step father – unable to speak, we exchanged looks of fear and disbelief.
People were coming and going in the receiving room of the funeral parlor, voices were drowning out the news casters: speculation, confusion, who, how, why, what else? The fireman brought news about the Pentagon, the alert status they received, unconfirmed suspicions of more targets: the missile sight 15 miles up the road, AOL headquarters practically around the corner, Dulles Airport 15 minutes away. We were in one of the hubs, the spokes were spinning around us.
The funeral director showed us the chapel where the wake would be held that evening and took the shoes we had brought for him to put on my mother. The casket would be closed, nobody would see her, why bother with shoes? Because she couldn’t go barefoot in the dress she had said she wanted to be buried in. Another detail for the living, one of many I had questioned in the past 24 hours.
As we pushed ourselves to finish funeral tasks at hand the roads became deserted, cell phones were impossible to use, shopping centers closed and planes ceased to fly. The resulting silence was eerie. I felt like I was floating, the ground seemed to drop out from beneath my feet with each step, my stomach tightened, numbness took over. How could any of this be happening? My mother dead. Fear that any number of nearby sights could be attacked before day’s end. It feels like a dream, I wish it were a dream, it’s not a dream. The NPR news on the car radio confirmed that it was true.
Had everyone arrived from California that morning? Could Monica get out of Virginia Beach with the kids? Surely, as Chief Weapons Officer of the Navy’s East Coast Air Wing, her husband wouldn’t be coming now. Call Jennifer, tell her to avoid the beltway, come on the back roads. What about Todd coming by train from New York?
The California family had arrived safely on one of the last flights allowed to land at Dulles Airport. There they were, glued to the television when we walked in the house. Amazing how eight members of our family could be so quiet all in the same room. We all hugged, then pandemonium broke loose, everyone talking at once; “can you believe it, this is absurd, scary, impossible, I can’t fathom it, where were you when you heard? ”. The reason for the unexpected family reunion was temporarily forgotten, all attention was on the unthinkable.
The estimated number of deaths rose on the TV screen and suddenly it all became clear to me. I understood God’s rush to have my mother with Him. He needed her: her generous love, undying faith, great strength and unparalleled organization (as all of us cousins would later joke) to help so many souls in their passage from this life to the next. It comforted me to know that His next calling for her was of such magnitude. No doubt it pleased her too and she would rise to the occasion.
Then, thinking of the family members of those killed that day, I appreciated our good fortune. We had accompanied her until her peaceful end, we had said our good byes, our I love you’s and our thank you’s. We had shared our reminisces, our remember whens, our laughter and our tears with her. We had a body to dress, a casket to choose, a wake to plan, a burial to attend; We had details for the living.
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