naomi came home and said she “found out” at school that the plane was highjacked.  that people stole a plane.  that there was another layer of pre-determined “meanness.”  oh child, forgive my bubble around you.

peace at church

tonight i found a piece i wrote after 9/11/00.  i wrote with some anger that the bubble of preschool was being poked and pressed a little too much.  that adults were coming in the classroom with details that wouldn’t benefit the spirit of any young child.  i was very pregnant with a soon to be micah…still grieving the miscarriage that came before him.  the world was rocked.

finding comfort

and now we are here.  clinging to the dream of change.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

photo explanations:

i found that peace sign carved into the pew at church…so curious who left their mark.

the next photo was taken last week when i went to bed.  eliza started out in her room, micah started out in our room and i found them like this.

6 thoughts on “remembering

  1. i was so scared on that day.
    i was pregnant with talby. and i felt so vulnerable. not fast. not safe. not with any member of my family. every single one of us was in a different place. it was so scary. i remember going into the school office and not being able to speak just motioning that i wanted my children….NOW.
    they got them.
    i brought them home to try and keep us safe together.
    and begging craig to come home from work just in case they hit chicago too.

    such a sad day.


  2. I’ll never forget that day. I should never forget that day.

    That bubble you provide. control. I can only imagine that its walls become thinner and thinner as the kids get older.

    The pain of “real” life is inevitable for them. Use this challenging opportunity to teach them coping skills. Show them how to find their balance and peace when “real” life happens.

    Just a suggestion. There is always an opportunity inside the dark stuff, I think.


  3. It was my first day of MVS orientation before heading out to Washington, DC 4 days later. It was the perfect community to process with… and feeling so safe where I was at the moment (at Camp Mennoscah… in the middle of the prairie).

    It was really interesting moving to DC so soon after. The streets were quiet. The level of security at the Smithsonians quadrupled. No more tours of certain government buildings (White House included, of course). I remember driving past the Pentagon and we took a wrong turn and ended up in their parking lot where there was lots of building rubble and even some plane parts. THAT’S when it REALLY hit home.

    The anxiety that resonated all throughout DC in that year that followed (with the addition of Anthrax and dirty bombs and evacuation plans if it hit and… ) was extremely high. No one could just relax.

    It was emotionally draining. Really, really draining.


  4. Oh my dear one,

    As I awoke this morning — yes it’s 4:45 a.m. and I’ve already got about an hour behind me! — I spent a good long while reading your recent posts. Once again I was moved to tears — tears of gratitude and longing. Grateful for what is and longing for what might yet be. Yes, keep “clinging to the dream of change.”

    THANK YOU for the care you offer the life that’s been given you — the space around you is holy indeed. Holy = reserved, set apart for a purpose. Sometimes within a bubble, sometimes without!

    Mom’s at Women’s Retreat this weekend. I’m here just trying to keep my balance. :-) Hi to Jerry and the kiddies.

    Much love,



  5. I kept the writing you did re “the bubble”in response to 9/11. Such a tender tension in/out of the bubble.

    Know how much I still long to hold on to you and keep you safe in body and spirit…



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