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The majority of our days are ordinary and typical, we spend them working, playing, dreaming. They pass uneventfully and without any great fanfare. Then, there are those few special, unforgettable days which are rare yet forever etched in our memories. These are the days and moments that truly shape our destiny. Marriages, births, deaths, our greatest joys and deepest tragedies form the fabric of our lives, the patchwork quilt sewn together with piercing needles of pain and running threads of pleasure.
It is easy to become absorbed into the ordinary days, allowing them to become the definition of who we are. With life’s pressures superseding all else, we easily fall into the pattern of driven accomplishment. We must have the big house, fancy car, elite status and notability. There is no time remaining for family bonding, building friendships or merely exploring our dreams. We sprint through life content in our successes, depressed by our failures, and struggling not to disappoint anyone whose path crosses ours. These were the days of my life…..ordinary and typical, rushed and heavy. I spent my time hurrying through the messy days, and completely missing the significant ones. The stress to accomplish and compete was often overwhelming, but I managed to push the strain aside as I scurried along my chosen path. It was as if there was a big prize awaiting my arrival yet I had no clue where I was headed.
The week began with another one of those simple, ordinary days. It was Monday. Our son had recently graduated from high school and we were leaving to take him to college on Thursday. The event loomed ominously before me……my youngest going off to college. The empty nest fear was creeping up on me. Had I done enough to prepare this youngest one to leave the nest? I immersed myself deeper into work in an effort to avoid even thinking about the impact or reflecting on the “baby” I would sorely miss. The day was spent in the office of our family business clearing up work issues, making travel arrangements, and listening to customer concerns. As typical, the busy day flew by and before I realized, it was almost four o‘clock. My son called to say that he had developed a very painful earache. I was concerned but not overly so, he had been swimming a lot over the summer, and most likely summer’s ear was the culprit. After assuring him I would pick up some drops on my way home from work, I jumped back into the work at hand, still an hour left to get things accomplished.
Arriving home that evening, the usual routine began…..fix dinner, clean up the kitchen, take out the trash, check the personal email, get ready for bed and prepare to do it all again tomorrow. Before heading to bed and with the nagging reminder that in just three days, the house would be left empty, my child rearing days behind me, I peeked in on my son to see how he was feeling. Lying piled upon a stack of pillows, he was still awake and I could see the anguish filling his face. There were actual tears in the eyes of my super macho 18 year old son. The pain in his ear had become severe, and it was clear this was not going to get better without help. With his temp now over 100 degrees, he gave no resistance when I suggested a trip to the emergency room.
When we arrived, it was unusually busy for a Monday night in the relatively small town emergency room. Our son was feeling a little better from the mega doses of Motrin, and he joked easily with his Dad. I enjoyed watching the interaction yet felt the familiar tug that these moments were to be short lived. It was hard to enjoy the moment with only 3 days remaining until we would deliver him to college and his new life. Feeling the sudden panic and sensing my eyes becoming teary, I looked around the crowded waiting room for a distraction from my tormenting thoughts. Ignoring this opportunity for self reflection, I took in the colorful array of people in the room. Men and women lined the walls, they filled and overflowed the meager seating available, some were sleeping in their coveted chairs, while others were holding rags to cuts. There were scared mothers trying to comfort crying infants, and teenagers looking stunned and confused, random people caught up together in an unlikely, unplanned rendezvous in the middle of the night. I wanted to reach out to these hurting people, offer them sympathy or hope, but the numbing chance that my efforts would be thwarted reduced me to only introspective speculation and paralyzed my advances. A quote I had heard popped into my head, “Whatever you want to do, do it now. There are only so many tomorrows.” Yet I quietly sat and waited our turn.
Finally after a two hour wait which seemed like six, my son’s name was called and he roused up to pass through the sliding glass doors for his turn to see the doctor. By this time, the pain had returned, and Brett’s usual patience was growing thin. The doctor confirmed that he had a severe ear infection requiring heavy doses of antibiotics and pain meds. She gave him a shot and assured us that he would be feeling like his old self very soon. Before dismissing us the doctor, in answering our inquiry, assured us we could leave Florida on Thursday as planned and deliver our son to college. Exhausted, we pulled into our driveway at three in the morning. Secretly disappointed we would not be able to keep him home for a while longer, I was thankful his condition would be quickly resolved, all was well. Had I known what was about to transpire, I would not have been so calm.
Dragging myself up the next morning, from a very comfortable stupor, I struggled to prepare for the day looming ahead. Only two days remaining until the inevitable college trip and so much to do. One of our sales representatives was arriving at the office a little after 8:00 AM to go over some reports plus I had a full and busy day to follow. It was a perfect plan, no time to waste and certainly no time to think and ponder. For now it was full speed ahead, I would have to deal with the empty spot growing rapidly in my heart another time.
Arriving at the office, I made coffee and checked the phone messages. The salesman arrived and much to my chagrin, I realized I had left the reports at home. The young rep was always in a hurry, so he was less than pleased when I told him I would have to go back home to retrieve the reports. The fact that I had spent the night in the ER with a sick son and was still a bit foggy brained did not change his sour attitude. My usual confidence waned as I felt miserable that I had forgotten the reports. Time is money to our sales team and I hated being the one to disappoint. From the office to our home was about a 30 minute round trip, I assured the rep I would hurry and asked him to grab the phones in my absence. After enjoying one last snarl from him, I rushed out the door and settled into my car for the turn around trip back home. My mind was trying to adjust to this new development and mainly how it would impact my already hectic day. A 30 minute trip home and back to the office was unplanned, and I am a planner. Never one to “live in the moment”, I was already thinking about how I could recapture this lost time when I returned to the office.
So engrossed in my thoughts, it did not even occur to me that the radio was playing. It was the announcer’s intonation as much as his words that suddenly caught my attention. What?? A plane had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York City. My first thought was how did the pilot not see that big building looming in front of him?? Almost in the same instance I realized the absurdity of my thought, of course he could see it, he must have had a heart attack, stoke or something?? The announcer continued, “We are not sure of the details, but the crash has been confirmed. There is no additional information at this time.” Music began playing again on the station as I pulled into the driveway. My mind was a complete blank as I unlocked the door and walked inside the house. All was quiet, hubby and son were still asleep so I grabbed the reports and hurried out the door.
While backing from the driveway, I turned the radio volume up. My thoughts were slowly absorbing the news and what an impact such an awful crash would have in New York City. Music played on the radio with an occasional promise of more information on the NYC crash as soon as available. Abruptly a little after nine, the alarmed radio announcer burst in with abbreviated spurts of terror as he relayed the news that stopped the heart and made the blood run cold. A second plane had hit the South Tower of the World Trade Center. Immediately, without another spoken word….we all knew, every single person listening to the grim details knew, this was no accident and life as we had innocently come to know it was now over. This was a day, a moment that would forever change and impact our lives. As a result, we can all remember that day, where we were when we heard the news, what we were wearing, the expressions of faces, and every significant detail, remembered with brazen clarity. This ordinary day was suddenly turned upside down.
Fragments of news, tiny bits and pieces were being broadcast over the radio waves. I listened mesmerized as I drove the final few miles back to the office. The information being hysterically communicated was unconfirmed and was constantly being contradicted. It seemed no one knew what was going on and pandemonium was apparent at the radio station. I slid into my parking spot, jumped out of the car and literally burst into the office. The sales rep was busy building a paper clip collage and was not prepared for my sudden, stunned appearance. As I rushed past him, he almost tumbled over as he hastily stood from his perch. “What in the world is going on?” he inquired as I pulled the tiny screen television from the back cabinet and frantically looked for an open plug.
The rep’s mouth dropped open as we both stood speechless before the images of horror unfolding in front of us. It was not news from some distant, remote country but on our own soil, taking place this moment in New York City, Washington DC and Pennsylvania. The small screen bombarded us with the unimaginable and brought us to our knees in dismay. We could not watch the terror and yet we could not stop watching. I found enough breath to reach for the phone and dial home. My husband answered and I was shocked at the shaky, tiny voice which escaped my mouth as I asked him to turn on the television. I needed him to wake Brett and make sure he was alright. I needed to call my other son. The urgency to hear their voices was overwhelming and I felt exhausted just speaking these words to my husband. Then, I began to cry. The weeks of anguish over my son’s imminent departure were catapulted to the forefront and I had no reserve to stop the flood of tears. I was crying for those who lost their lives today, for their families, for all our children who would never enjoy life in the same way again, for our country, leaders and heroes….mostly I was crying because of the time and energy I had wasted my entire life worrying about things and events which were now completely stripped away; totally without significance. “Whatever you want to do, do it now. There are only so many tomorrows” was blasting in my head from the night before.
This was a day which began as an ordinary one, designed to be like any other day but was now unfolding as a day so painful, an entire nation was immediately thrust into mourning. The sadness was palpable, the loss of life unimaginable. There were no moments; there was no time. It was just us trying to sort out our thoughts, embrace our fears, grapple with the future and learn what steps to take next. A nation broken together, grasping for the pieces and tools to knit ourselves together again. We would have huge scars and right now we had enormous, cavernous wounds. Our work, play, plans and dreams put on hold, all suspended for the time being.
Our little family of four huddled together that evening, we sat quietly each reflective in their own way. There was no work, there was no play. Hugs and tears were abundant. There was no guide book for dealing with this and we drew on each other’s inner strength to sustain us. The television was a constant reminder of the carnage and our fear was as tangible as our grief. In two days we would leave to take our son to college and the upcoming separation was daunting in light of the day’s events. It would not be the trip we had planned. There would be no exciting side trips or joyous excursions, no rushing back to work……all events were now overshadowed by the sorrow clinching our hearts.
As we traveled north on Thursday fully loaded with blankets, coolers, and dorm supplies, the world was different. There were no planes flying over our heads. When we stopped for gas or to get a bite to eat, there was only silence, the background televisions reminding us exactly how the world had changed. The trip was different than I had anticipated, and I was most certainly different. First of all, I had closed the door to the office on Tuesday and never looked back. The work could pile up, my priorities had shifted. There was now time to listen and laugh with my sons, a luxury I seldom allowed myself before. It was a revelation to learn about their hopes and dreams as well as their fears and insecurities. Facing an empty house was not nearly as scary now; it would not be the end of my “motherhood” journey, but simply another chapter in my life story, one where I have different responsibilities and challenges. I was still alive; there was still time to live and enjoy each moment.
As a country, we had lost our innocence, but I had gained a new and brighter perspective. A deeper understanding of the brevity, sanctity and fulfillment of life had been revealed to me as I watched the wounded faces of the 9/11 victims and their families.
Leaving my son at college was certainly difficult, especially coming on the heels of the tragedy, but the experience was also much more significant because of 9/11. I hugged him tighter and cried more freely. It did not occur to me to put up any guard against my emotions. Life was too short for him to not know how much I cared and how much I would miss him. My mind quietly remembered the diverse array of people gathered that night at the hospital, my brothers and sisters in pain, and I hoped they were all okay. Then I thought about the 9/11 victims, had they experienced a moment like this when they had seized the opportunity to let their loved ones know exactly how they felt? I hoped they had. In a few months our son would come home for Thanksgiving, yet there were so many mothers that would never see their sons and daughters again. My heart was breaking for them. As we drove out of the college campus, I looked at my son standing on the sidewalk. A man ready to take his place in this world, I did not feel the fear I anticipated and dreaded, in its place was excitement and pride. We would survive; the pain would become our strength…..to live another day.
It has been said, it is not about the destination or event, but about the journey along the way. Never again would I take the moments of my journey for granted. Even though I may not necessarily like the destination, I will take time to appreciate the days along the way. The moments of life are to be savored, explored, reflected upon and allowed to mold us ultimately into the people we are to become. It is through the pain that we develop our strength and without the pain, there is no strength, no depth of character. If we rush through life only planning for the next day’s destination, event or accomplishment, we miss a whole lot.
Our lives are filled with “ordinary” days, but within those days are extraordinary moments. Moments that should be forever etched in our memory. The most precious things in life, the things we sometimes overlook as simple and ordinary are the truly wondrous accomplishments of life. To love, laugh, touch and feel…….the special, unforgettable moments in life that truly shape our destiny.
May we never forget how we felt, what we did, who we hugged, what we saw nor what we heard on September 11, 2001………..may it never be remembered as an ordinary day.
