Life’s grief mixed with parenting joy.

9/11 & 9/12…A Contrast About Life.

This past spring, I went to New York to meet my dearest friend who now lives across the country, yet my plan beforehand was set…to visit the 9–11 Memorial.

It was a bright yet bitterly cold day and as I rode the bus from the train station, I sat quietly feeling a bit anxious as I didn’t know what to expect.

The bus driver was lovely and we chatted as she maneuvered through traffic with such skill that I commented about it to her several times.

I told her I had never been to the memorial before and she told me it would “stay with me forever.” She was so right.

When we reached the area, she told me how to walk there and I thanked her for her graciousness. Walking toward the memorial, something immediately became apparent.

The silence. In a city with over 8 million people and more visitors, it struck me how quiet the streets were. And as I approached, the silence and hushed tones made the sanctity of this place and space beyond anything I had ever experienced before.

I stood in the cold, walking around the area feeling overwhelmed and emotional. I wasn’t the only one.

There was a small family — parents and two children — doing what I was doing. Looking up, touching the names engraved in granite, walking slowly around the memorial, looking up again.

They spoke another language so I could not understand what was being said, yet in this life, emotions are universal as many times words are unimportant. She sat on one of the benches, wiping her eyes, and when our eyes met, I nodded my head. She did the same.

When something touches us, our experiences may be unique to us, yet emotions are often shared.

I walked to a church near the memorial, lighting a candle and offering prayers. To everyone. Those lost. The families who will remain in mourning for a lifetime. Those whose heroism and selflessness brought our country out of such darkness and back into streams of light.

Like you, I remember 9–11 with searing detail. I was making the beds when a friend called and said, “Are you watching the news?” and while I typically would put it on in the morning, this day I did not.

As I watched what continued to unfold, my heart was pounding with such fear and uncertainty that I wasn’t sure what to do. And then it hit me — my son was in school and I needed to get to him.

His father called and we quickly said…I’ll meet you at school. Upon arriving, I never saw so many frantic parents, parking on the grass, in the middle of the road, leaving their cars running. Fathers running with their ties blowing in the wind. Mothers in tears. I was too.

The office area, surrounding hallway, and out into the vestibule and outside the doors…all were packed with parents yelling that they wanted their children. There was such panic despite the principal trying to calm us all, saying our kids were safe and that it would be best to allow them to finish the day. Many parents refused, running down hallways toward their children’s classrooms. We waited, unsure whether to leave our son in school or take him with us.

We decided to sit outside as many other parents did, waiting until after their lunch to take them home. Parents were pacing, sitting on the grass, on their phones…I never experienced such overwhelming fear and such relief as when our child was escorted to the school office and was safely in my car on the way home.

So why is 9–12 a contrast to the horror and terror of 9–11? Because it is our child’s birthday and cupcakes and a small party in the classroom were planned. We were careful with what to share about the events of the day as they continued to unfold and while my anxiety was off-the-charts, yet the question came…”Are we still having my party tomorrow?”

Of course that would be the question.

When you’re a young elementary-aged child and your birthday is such a special day, it would be difficult to explain and understand why things scheduled for 24 hours later would not happen.

What would we say that would be understandable or accepted?

I wasn’t sure what to do. What the principal would want us to do. Whether I could explain why things needed to be postponed…how do you delay a birthday? And to a child?

Later that day, I called school and asked the principal what to do. She advised that we continue with the plans as the class knew what was planned for snack time.

Imagine baking cupcakes the night of 9–11 and putting together goodie bags for 20+ children while keeping my eyes on the television with the sound down, trying to show excitement about what was happening the following day.

It was the most polar opposites of emotions I ever felt, doing everything possible to place a layer of joy on top of such darkness and yes, fear.

I remember slipping into bed that night feeling so conflicted. How could I encourage celebrating when everything was about loss and worry? How could I try to ignore the realities in order to pretend life was as it was 24 hours earlier?

How? I did what we often do in life…like a bull with eyes straight ahead, I simply did it. We had the school party and celebrated the birthday of the child who has meant the world to us.

9–11 will forever be a day of enormous, overwhelming sadness for us all. For our country. Our vulnerabilities. The searing pain that is part of life. And the reality of seeing local news reports of an adjoining community where cars were left at the train station by people heading to their jobs in New York, never to be driven again.

9–12 will forever be a day of great joy. The unadulterated gift that parenthood brings.

In a 24 hour period of time, one day to the next, the contrast for me could not have been and never will be greater.

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