A new weekly blog most certainly could have been written as usual. Because this date is such a precious one for so many, consider this my small effort of sharing, instead. I think it speaks well enough on its own…
The following is an excerpt from my upcoming new book titled STEALING HOME…
It will be released in early 2021. It is a very poignant recounting of my life journey. I felt it appropriate to share these 700 words from it, with you on this very memorable day 9/11.
Chapter 6 – SUNSET
“ Like everyone else in the world, I will always remember the day. I know exactly where I was standing when my phone rang to receive the news of it from Stacey. Those vivid details are forever etched in my mind. I was with my boss-Paul when it all went down, he and I will always be connected in some special way to this horrible life experience. Together, we ended up back in his hotel in front of the TV. For a couple of hours, he and I become pale zombies. Who knew we would be speaking about this day for the rest of our lives as we prepared for work earlier on that morning?
I recall speaking with her on the phone. She vocalized to me a plane had just struck the World Trade building in NY, and pandemonium was rampant in the city. There had not been any TV’s available at my work, so my first information came directly from her this numbing autumn morning. I simply didn’t understand any of it.
It was just a crazy and erratic day. I remember the insecurity of it all, was nuts. Not only was the city in crisis, but the drama was also still unfolding somewhere in the skies above us in PA. Upon slamming the car door, I glanced up to look around for it.
The entire morning was a pressure cooker filled with misinformation, leaking little bits of detail repeatedly and often. I was actually worried the plane might be coming down on us at any given time, without warning. Nobody had fully known what was going on anywhere. Life lost it’s meaning somewhere along the way that morning. For the evil swine…it meant absolutely nothing.
On my way home, I wondered if I needed to get my family back up to NH as soon as I could, for safety sake. The brain was racing, I have to believe it happened to everyone. Confusion ruled the hours. My mind was someone else’s as the person in the driver’s seat of the black Ford Taurus drove me home for twenty-five minutes wondering exactly “what the hell was going on”.
Stacey was sitting in front of the television with Aryn in her arms watching intently with a look of bewilderment on her face. Neither of us said much to one another as we stared at it for answers – but received none. I took our recently diagnosed child from her and kissed his perfectly expanded forehead before placing him in the crib in his room. His diagnosis no longer mattered, nor did we care about whatever life was going to throw our way in the future with him. It had been completely trivial, as the cadence of bodies hitting glass became the norm before our very eyes on tv. Families were actually losing loved ones, every few seconds. There I was, with my entire reason for being alive. Watching.
Our little sick baby was safe and warm in the background innocently not ten feet away. Importantly, we were all safe and we were all together as a family. Aryn slept unaware in his crib, the year of his birth would also represent one of the darkest in history. He periodically stirred a bit, as the entire world was overheating around us.
The contrast between two very powerful emotions was beyond words. Empathy versus hate was the observation of the day in our house. We spent the remainder together watching in horror as the delicate balance of life versus death had become so trivial to those who hated us.
As the sun finally set, I too like everyone else in the world, took a moment to stop and consider our good fortune. My own particular reflection was anything but routine or typical. It was one that could only successfully be realized by the compliments of drink. Our country was mourning. An hour and a half away to our east, NY City was still on fire, as the sky was melting above it.
My wine glass and another full bottle of liquid depression had been patiently waiting for precisely such an occasion. I washed the slight hint of dust out of the middle and reached for the wine opener. This was going to be good. ”
STEALING HOME ©2020 Aric H. Morrison