Somewhere on the WillisAvenueBridge, I feel the rumblings of anxiety in my stomach and an involuntary trembling in my jaw and fingers. I breathe� ��"deeply, quietly� ��"and soften, centering. I want to turn around, go back to the site. I know that when I get home I will feel this day's events differently. I know that it is good and proper to feel it all� ��"the anger, the terror, the gaping, irreparable loss� ��"but I don't relish the thought.
I try to focus on what is good instead. I think of my dogs who will be there at the door, waiting for me, thrilled to see me after a whole day, of the friends who walked them, anxious to make their contribution to the victims and survivors in any way they could, and my family� ��"that they're alive, that I can call them. I can't believe, can't fathom the grace that has shielded me from the worst of this tragedy. I start to sag in the seat, allowing myself the beginning of rest.
It is fitful, however. Images intrude� ��"of the shredded steel frame of Tower One creaking under the forms of two silhouetted metal workers, welding sparks holding my gaze, blackened concrete, tearful soldiers, haggard firefighters, truckloads of food, roadblocks, sirens, empty streets. Why do I get to go home?
There are no answers for something of this enormity. It seems dismissive and insensitive to offer up anything that even remotely resembles a platitude. I look at my hands. They are shaking a bit and the nails are dirty. How did I get my nails dirty? I look down at my pants and boots. They're covered with soot and ash. It can all be cleaned, I think to myself with that strange, inane thought process of the shell-shocked.
I remember that right after I got the call that made me aware of the attack, I realized quickly that we were at war. I packed a bag and moved quickly through the house, afraid that there was still a chance we'd have to evacuate. Maybe it wasn't over. What would I need? I stood for a moment, frozen in my living room, my dogs at my heels, sensing my anxiety, and looked at everything I had there� ��"furniture, vases, crystal, photos, books, computer. And I knew at that moment that nothing would ever be the same. That none of it mattered. That the only thing to take would be the dogs, good first aid and survival kits, my passport, lots of really good socks, some clothing and water. I don't need much stuff, when push comes to shove.
It's a good lesson to take out of this, I muse, as we pass the toll booth on 87 Northbound.
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