Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘September 11’

It was a perfect day, I remember.  I got up, sent Abby off to second grade that morning, kissed Ben goodbye, and went to work.  I kept looking at the sky as I commuted on Storrow Drive with my car pool buddies.  It was gorgeous, sunny, warm, skies clear.  Folks were out on the Esplanade along the Charles, and summer was hanging on and holding us in her embrace.  I was determined to take a walk at lunch time across the Common, at least, just to drink in the richness of the moment.

Then, it all happened.  All the tragedy, the unspeakable disaster, the terror of ten years ago.  Perfection, and innocence, vanished in moments.  We were told to go home, be with our families, be safe, get away from the State House and Beacon Hill.  And as I drove back home to Lexington, I kept wondering how such a beautiful day had turned into such a hideous catastrophe.  More than that, I really did wonder if, as T.S. Eliot suggested, the world were ending, “Not with a bang but with a whimper.”

My mother called, wanting to take us out to dinner at a really nice restaurant.  “If we’re going to blow up, we might as well have a good meal first,” she proclaimed.  Sure enough, I remember ordering Duck a l’orange for my entree, with escargots for a first course.  “What the hell,” I thought, my dad was right:  “When you’re on the Titanic, go first class.”  As we left the restaurant, we could hear the military planes taking off and landing from Hanscom Field nearby.

When we got home and had tucked Abby into bed and talked to our older daughter, Emily, at college, we went outside and stood on the steps and looked up at the night sky.  It was so…eerily…quiet.  No other aircraft, of course, just military planes circling Boston and other major cities, trying to protect us from a danger no one really knew.  We went to bed, held each other, cried, and hoped, for our children’s sake, we’d all live to see the next day.

I remember asking Ben whether we should try to get to Star Island.  Star, a place we had both grown up spending summers on, is only seven miles from Rye, New Hampshire.  Yet it feels like a million miles…like safety…like a refuge.  It’s an illusion, of course.  If major catastrophic damage struck the East Coast, it would almost assuredly hit the Isles of Shoals too.  But the feeling of being away from the madness was so strong, and my need to find somewhere safe to be was so palpable, that I was seriously thinking about running away with everyone to hide on Star.

All these thoughts came sweeping back into my mind because we were, last weekend, on Star Island on another beautiful, perfect day.  Ten years later, we were blessed to have both our daughters with us.  The sun shone, it was warm and the sky was deep blue.  I officiated at a Service of Remembrance for those who have helped to shape Star Island into the iconic and magical conference and retreat center that it has become.  Standing in the new Memorial Courtyard, leading worship as memorial stones were laid to honor our ‘ancestors,’ I could hear the waves crashing on the rocks, the cry of the gulls, feel the breezes, smell the salt tang in the air.

Later our family members helped Ben run an amazing treasure/trivia/scavenger hunt for our friends – an activity fun and fascinating.  We drank Lime Rickeys on the old hotel porch, Ben and Abby painted, Emily napped, I caught up with people I’ve known since childhood.  We ate lobster together, sang songs we learned when we were in college and working on Star, played board games with our niece and nephew.  And we posed for pictures which a dear friend (and professional photographer) offered to take of us.  All of us there, together, on an absolutely beautiful day.

Ben and I remarked that night at how fortunate we were, to have been blessed with that day, to have had our children and loved ones with us, to have been on Star, our own best place on earth.  Another beautiful day, ten years later than one that had begun so similarly and ended so differently.

May there be more beautiful days, more simplicity, more opportunities for all of us to revel in the ordinary beauty that comes from appreciating the gifts life holds and the family we so cherish.

Read Full Post »