September 11

Kissing goodbye. Arguing. Rushing.

I’m picturing my mornings. “Goodbye.” “Love you.” “Did you take the trash out?” “Get your shoes on. We’re late for the bus!” The madcap scramble of mornings.

September 11, 2001 is an anniversary that compels us to look our mornings squarely in the face and realize that those hasty hugs and quickly tied shoelaces may be our final acts.

I wonder about the people in the buildings – and at home – the people with loved ones in the towers. Were they regretting rash words or hasty exits?

September 11 carries with it so many messages and meanings. It was a day that any illusions of safety were shattered, collectively. I can remember the powerful odor of fear hanging in the air around me as I protectively clasped my then newborn to me.

I think as a nation we have been altered by that fear.

I wonder how the survivors have been shaped. Is every moment precious – or fraught with fear? Does the knowledge of life’s impermanence limit them? Or does it push them into a life filled with meaning? And, are all of us survivors on some level?

I’m thankful that most days rushing around is just rushing around. I’m grateful that each lost shoe seems like life’s most pressing problem in the moment I’m experiencing it.

I’m thankful for hurried kisses and crazy texts and running out the door with high heels in my hands and flip flops on my feet to try and catch a bus.

Those are the sounds of life. They are acts of love – even the arguing and momentary sighs and groans of a lunch left behind.

These simple experiences don’t feel mundane on September 11 – post 2001. They feel like a luxury.