i was 7 months pregnant
i was grieving miscarriage
naomi was 3
we lived in our small house
i was at preschool
jerry was at high school
we don’t remember if we talked to each other right away
the high school principal had them turn on tvs
jerry kept his class doing a lab while the tv reported
those kids are all grown ups now
i never saw live coverage
but the same images a lot of us saw still make my eyes close
i remember seeing president bush found out
i felt sorry for him
naomi doesn’t remember it
i don’t remember what we ate
i don’t remember what we did the next day
i don’t remember much
i focused on growing a baby
i wanted this baby to survive
i wonder what shifted in my womb for micah that day
i wonder how much my spiral into grief after his birth
was magnified by the horror of that day and the fear that followed
ten years later
we are a family of five
with more than we need
our joy is solid
our fears are rational
our hope is unending
our anger is motivating
today we start a one-room school house model of sunday school together.
over 20 kids will gather, hold the babies, sing songs of peace,
hear that god is with the whole world and play in the sunshine.
blessed be.
blessed be indeed.
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I remember every one of those 9 months. And more.
I think that day Naomi was with Aaron and Lydia at our house.
I was at Santa Fe Middle School.
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after reading this, that day seems so long ago.
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I had 10 mo. old Milo on my hip and 4 yr old Elsie at my heels. Called mom for something else and she told me to turn the TV on in time to see the 2nd plane crash into the tower. I was horrified. Didn’t cry that day but cried yesterday, twice, hearing children tell their dead parents they love them when they have never met them. Also so proud (and a little scared) that the man I love so much is a firefighter. He is truely a life saver time and time again.
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did you recognize elsie in my old preschool picture? it seems ages ago.
http://preschool-daze.com/2011/09/10/911-for-preschoolers/
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Blessed be, indeed.
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Thank you. I’m so thankful for you and your life — and the life you “are” as a five-some.
Love you, Dad
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