Today, we tried to spend the whole morning out--the kids and I--so Craig could get some sleep at home. Our last stop was Costco and after picking up a few things we grabbed a pizza to share between the three of us. I wrote September 11, 2006 at the top of my check and it sent a chill down my spine. I looked up and glanced around, I guess wondering if everyone felt a little solemnity on this day. I was a newlywed on this day 5 years ago. Seth and Lucy weren't even twinkles in my eyes yet, let alone a third! I sat on a worn blue and white striped couch that we paid $40 for when we moved into our duplex apartment in New Orleans. Craig was in class. We didn't have a television, just a radio that sat next to me on a $10 shelf we had gotten along with the couch. I wouldn't start my job at Tulane until the next month. The radio and I kept eachother company the rest of the day. I specifically remember hearing the recordings of messages that passengers on the planes had left at home after realizing they would not see their loved ones again. This is when the true terror of the event struck me. Sobs would start and stop through that evening. When Craig finally came home we walked down the street to Alph and Amy's home to watch some of what happened on the television. What can you say, our lives here hang on a thread, held with a strength other than our own.
A year later, Rebecca Swindle and I took a short trip to the City September 7-9. We were able to see Ground Zero and experience the ambiance of a city humbled and united after the devastating blow they endured a year earlier. This feeling was literally all around as we shopped, talked, ate, and wandered the streets of the fabulous big apple. There is always recovery, but, to echo Jill's post, do we always honor those that went before? Could we live kinder more generous lives?