Mixed Emotions

We were in a staff meeting for the so-called “professional” staff.

The secretary knocked on the door and told my boss and my co-worker that their wives were on the phone, asking to talk with them right away. This had never happened before. I had met their wives, and they were not ones to get overly excited about something without reason. For them to call and insist on talking to their husbands immediately was strange…

They took the messages seriously, excused themselves from the meeting, and left the rest of us there wondering what to do with ourselves. We talked for a moment about how odd it was. Then it dawned on us: both of their wives were teachers. While the echoes of Columbine and other school shootings may have faded, but they had not fully disappeared.

Across town, Tracey was waking up. Her part-time work schedule was flexible, and she didn’t have to be in the office for anything in particular that day, so she had slept in. When she awoke, she felt… strange. Was she coming down with something? No, she had felt this way before… She poured herself a bowl of cereal and milk, hoping it would calm her stomach. By the time she sat down, she was pretty sure it was morning sickness. Last time, the “morning sickness” (which, despite its name, lasted all day) had been intense, nearly violent. She had lost weight during her first trimester.

She sat down on the couch and turned on the television, hoping to distract herself with whatever morning show she could find.

Instead, she turned the TV on just in time to see the second plane hit the Twin Towers.

Back at my office, we were trying to get whatever news we could. Neither my boss nor coworker had come out of their offices. Our initial concerns about a school shooting were fading away, and we were hearing vague reports about a terrorist attack in New York, and a possible explosion in the White House. Airplanes were said to be involved. My boss’ daughter lived in Manhatten, and was scheduled to be on a plane that morning. I had met her several times. She was my age. His wife had called to ask if he had heard from her. He hadn’t. My co-worker’s brother worked at the White House. I didn’t even know he had a brother. His wife had called to ask if he had heard from him. He hadn’t.

There we were, 900 miles away from New York city, 700 miles from D.C., yet not feeling very far away at all. Wanting to do something, but there was nothing we could do. Nothing but watch.

The boss’ daughter called later that day, to say that she was O.K. It think it was a day or more before my coworker heard from his brother, but he too was OK. “Knowing” two people who were briefly “missing” is nothing like having a friend or loved one there. No one I know or even tangentially related to me was injured or killed on 9/11. My mother’s flight back from Scotland (where she had been visiting my sister) to Boston was delayed several days.

Tracey decided not to tell me that she was pregnant until Friday. I’m not entirely sure why; I suspect because of all the disruption and upheaval of that week. But I knew. When I say I knew, I don’t mean it in any of that Hallmark, soft-focus, “I saw her and she was just aglow” nonsense. I just knew. And I knew that she wasn’t telling me, either because she wasn’t ready to talk about it or she thought I wasn’t ready to talk about it.

It was a dramatically different experience than the first time, when she had come out of the bathroom with the home pregnancy test and literally jumped for absolute, 100% joy (I also feel I should note that she was also 100% naked). That had been about a year beforehand, but that story did not have a happy ending. Instead it ended, 20-something weeks later after 3 days in the hospital, with a death certificate which had no corresponding birth certificate. That’s another long story for perhaps another day, but suffice it to say that I live my life now with the belief (and hope) that the worst day and worst experience of my life are behind me.

I mention that only because it was another dimension to the story of finding out on September 11th, 2001 that she was pregnant. It was an odd day to find out such good news, making the day one of extremely mixed emotions, especially considering our own personal history and tragedy.

Perhaps—and this occurs to me only now, 8 years after the fact and after I have already written the above words—she did not want to tell me because the news of the day was filled with tragedy and sadness and fear and anxiety about the future. Her news would stir up memories and fears and anxiety too. So she waited. On Friday at lunchtime we attended a prayer service together. After the service ended we went to lunch. I remember her telling me, and I remember telling her “I know.” (I think I was fairly glib about it…you know, like when Han said it to Leia?)

We talked. The excitement of the first time was displaced by the awareness of all that could go wrong. Now it was just a matter of waiting.

I’m not big on stories with morals or the idea that God or the universe or whatever sends us “messages”. Nevertheless, I have, from the beginning until now, always believed that if there was such a message it was this:

There will always be reasons to fear, to give up, or to give in; but there will also be reasons to hope and to work for a better future.

Go live.