Forgive me, dear readers, for not continuing on with my adoption story today, but on the anniversary of such a national tragedy, continuing with my little story of woe seemed wrong.
Like most of my fellow Ay, Mama! bloggers – like most of you – I remember vividly the morning that changed our nation forever. Life was good then. Bill and I were living inLos Angeles. We had just celebrated our one year wedding anniversary and bought our first home. We were still in the “honeymoon” stage, blissfully happy and pretty oblivious to the world around us.
Bill was going on a business trip that day. As he was packing up his suitcase and I was getting ready for work, the phone rang. It was his mother, Emma, calling to tell us about the first tower getting hit. We thought it was probably a plane crash, nothing more than a terrible accident. No, Emma insisted, they’re saying it’s some kind of hijacking. Bill assured her he would look into the situation before heading out to the airport. He hung up the phone and we smiled at each other, shaking our heads. That Emma, we said to each other, such a worrier.
We turned on the television just as the second plane hit the tower.
Everything kind of stopped after that.
We just stood there for I don’t know how long, trying to make sense of what was happening, and trying to figure out what to do with ourselves.
I tried to call my work but nobody answered at the office. I decided to go in anyway and see if we were expected to work that day. The drive was absolutely surreal. The 405 freeway, one ofL.A.’s busiest, was absolutely deserted. There were no airplanes flying overhead. I listened to the news on the radio for a little while, but started shaking so hard I had to turn it off for fear of getting into an accident.
When I arrived at the office, most of my colleagues were standing there, looking just as confused as stricken as I felt. At the time, I worked for a public relations firm that handled DVD releases for some of the major film companies. Nothing could seem more pointless and unimportant. Thankfully, our boss agreed and allowed us to return home to our loved ones.
Of course, there was no way that Bill would be flying out that day. The airport had shut down, and even if it hadn’t, there was no way in hell that I would have allowed him to leave the house and board an airplane. When I returned home and saw my husband – who traveled so much for work – standing in front of me, so young, so alive, I realized just how easily it could have been him on those planes, how easily it could have been our lives affected that day.
The truth was, though, our lives were affected that day. All of ours. Nothing would ever be the same again after that.
Today, on the 10th anniversary of that terrible day, we remember. Let us always remember.
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