Remembering 9-11

[You can read my 9-11 tribute essay here]

Nine years can be many things to many people. It can be a lifetime, or it can be the blink of an eye. It can be a marriage, or earning a PhD. It can be a childhood, or the length of survival of a terminal illness. It can be nine years of time that heals, or a span of time punctuated with loss and sadness.

Today is different things for different people. Some people will choose to honor today, to honor the fallen by remembering, by mourning, by celebrating life. Other people will choose to move on, to live, by doing the things they do every day, but with just a little more emphasis and sadness in hopes of getting past the pain and heartache that this anniversary brings.

For me, there is something choked up and tangled inside of me every time I think about that Tuesday. It is something that is still pulsating, and twisting, unable to fathom the amount of pain and loss. I only knew one person who died on 9/11 and I knew him through proxy. The brother of a friend who wasn’t really a friend so much as an acquaintance that I’d lost touch with. But even so, I think about him; I think about the niece named for him that he’ll never know.

Then I think about the friend who was killed by a driver who was high and made a wrong turn. I think about my Uncle Donn, who died after being married for less than a year. I think about my grandfather and my friend Randy and about the people my friends have lost.

And amidst all that loss, I feel love and joy and hope. I don’t feel the sadness and the depression and the unparalleled pain, I just feel grateful. I feel like life is beautiful and colorful and worth living, without shame or hate or guilt or apologies.

The only way to really remember and mourn those who pass before us is to keep living our lives the best that we can. Remember how fragile the threads of life are. Tell people how you feel, try new things, go somewhere you’ve always wanted to go.

I know it’s a cliche to say that we should live as if it is our last day, but we SHOULD live as if it is our last day. That is how we can pay our respects and honor our loved ones, our heroes and our angels. It’s the only way and if you aren’t doing that, then you’re doing yourself and their memories a great disservice.

The only thing that validates dying is to keep on living.

**I realize of course that some people choose to look past the hype this day has brought. Sometimes numbing ourselves is necessary. Many say it's been long enough. Others rally at the drop of a hat for anything 9/11 related. I think it is important to remember events that change us, so I remember with my words.**

Viability

July unleashed a furious calidity as I sat on the side of the road in my overheated Toyota, waiting to see if there were two pink lines instead of one. It was the kind of summer that glued clothes to bodies within minutes of the heat’s exposure. I could taste the thickness of the air as I inhaled.

I’d bought the test as an afterthought; stopping at a drugstore to pee, passing by that aisle of taboo feminine products. I’d thought, maybe I should take a pregnancy test. But I always thought that after he and I had been together, because I liked the idea of taking pregnancy tests. I bought the test, forgetting about my need to urinate until the car started to overheat and I had to pull to the side of the road.

Humidity has a way of enhancing feelings to frenzying degrees. My skin was flushed and my clothes were soggy with sweat as I waited for the steam to stop billowing out from beneath the hood. My bladder reminded me of its needs. Down in the ditch where no one could see, I peed on the stick. I threw it on the passenger's seat and sat down behind the wheel.

There were three ice cubes left from the cola I’d bought at a McDonald’s a few miles back and I chewed on them to keep me cool. My irritation boiled beneath my skin but I did my nei kung exercises because Tai Chi is all about inner serenity. The engine cooled in time with my temper. I started the car and reached for my sunglasses. I picked up the pregnancy test instead.

There were already lies between me and him; lies and secrets and things that build indestructible walls between people. The lies and the secrets were all his. I looked at the test. Now I had a secret of my own; a secret that would be mine alone for the short time I might have to endure it.

Maybe I made the appointment because I knew I couldn’t offer a baby any kind of stability. I told myself that, but maybe I made it because some secret part of me hoped that if I erased the evidence, I could go back and find my innocence and naiveté. Maybe I hoped that a barren womb might bring back the irresponsibility of being with him.

In the clinic waiting room, I sat alone with my decision. The receptionist stayed behind the safety of her sliding glass window, answering calls without regard to the swirling tornado of indecision and guilt beyond the glass. The ghosts of choices past hovered in the corners of the room, haunting me.

They say a man should share the burden of a child. I did not want to share it. Inside of me, in the secret depths of my female legacy, webs were being spun; threads of silken flesh cocooning itself around an egg. These renovations were not public property; it was my body that would be scoured and scooped. We’d planted a seed together, but I would be doing the landscaping alone.

There was the question of viability, standard procedure they said. What I thought was a definite decision was a waiting game. I lay flat as a nurse rolled the bulbous transducer probe across the plane of my stomach. They don’t tell you that a heartbeat sounds like a cotton candy machine. They don’t tell you that you’ll conjure up the sickly sweet taste of sugary cotton and want to vomit. They don't tell you that years later, you’ll smell cotton candy and hear that sound, and still the feeling of being violated and gutted will assault you in ways that cripple you.

Rubber-gloved hands were fluttering above my face; gestures of urgency and unexpected portent. Their poker faces were immovable. I felt like a child who couldn’t read, listening to adults spell out their plans.
Because there was fear that something was wrong, even on the table waiting to be pillaged from the inside out. It was ice water through my veins and then one nurse spoke of the wonderment in my belly. And the prayers that were flattened between clenched teeth were set free, answered by a God I didn’t realize I’d been praying to; a God I didn’t know I believed in until that moment.

In the parking lot, in the rusty old hatchback, I curved my fists over the frangible skin of my belly. Drops of sweat dripped down from my brows, mixing with tears. I licked my lips, the salinity settling itself in my memory, tasting like ocean. Beneath my palm, two seeds were nestled in the lacuna of my femininity, growing into complex beings; sprouting wings that fluttered and sighed against my velvet canal.

In the rearview mirror, I watched my lips form a single word: twins.

[This is a revised version of a flash fiction story originally published in EditorUnleashed.com's Flash Fiction 40 Anthology, under the title "Frangible Choices"]

A Mother's Manifesto

[This was written shortly after my children were born, and revised not too long ago]

I will not encumber the garden of creativity that blossoms inside you. You are a creation of wonder and joy.

I will not scar you with my own failures, or weigh you down with unfulfilled dreams. You are a being unblemished by experience.

I will not take you for granted or slight you in anyway. You are a miracle of hope and chance.

I will listen and learn and grow with you. You teach me to be a better person.

I will help you affect change in yourself and the world. You have changed me for the better.

I will guide you with kind discipline and sincerity. You see the world with innocence and wonder.

I will instill morals and honesty in you, but still gift you with choice and free will. You have taught me to be kind and generous to others.

I will encourage you and promote you in your endeavors and relationships. You make me laugh with joy.

I will walk beside you on your journeys, never ahead or behind. Your unmarred love for me lifts me up.

I will open doors for you, whether they are seen or implied. Your sense of wonder and admiration is inspiring. I will ensure that your existence is never compromised. You are loved and wanted.

I will keep my promises at all costs. Your passionate nature warms my heart.

I will help to make sure your loyalties are never divided. Your independence is amazing.

I will protect you from seen and unseen evils. You are good and pure.

I will surround you with kind and caring environments. Your imagination is a thing of wonder.

I will be as honest with you as I am with myself. Your openness delights me.

I will open my heart, arms and home to you always, without judgment or conditions. Your thoughtfulness is admirable.

I will stand back and let you make your own mistakes. You have given me the gift of happiness.

I will be by your side when you need to right your wrongs. You are a strong person.

I will show you by example that it’s okay to be wrong. Because of you, I know how to fail.

I will teach you to dance instead of walk, to sing instead of talk, to radiate instead of be. You changed my world forever the day you were born.

I will be your best friend, even when you think you don’t need me anymore. You are capable and necessary in my life.

I will be your mother, even when you think you don’t need me anymore. You are the sun and moon.

I will love you freely, unconditionally, without question or censure. You are everything.