i had a baby in my gut ten years ago, and i clutched my taut stomach throughout the day as waves of nausea hit me. couldn't get the images or sounds of the city out of my stomach. still saw the people falling out of the sky, even as i took care of the kids at the preschool.
that day i randomly chose a book out of the shelf to read at circle time, and it was a little book about a mother finding a child, no matter where she might go. the author had written it after her own child had gone missing. in it, there was an illustration of nyc, and the towers loomed large and bright in the sunny expanse of the picture. i stared at it and choked back tears as i read to the kids, hoping they wouldn't notice.
later that day those same kids built towers and then let their airplanes knock them over.
tonight, as i lay nestled with my kids waiting for them to choose books, i let the feelings wash over me, thinking about this day. remembering ten years ago, desperately trying to reach kim and marshall in the city, then finding out that she was just coming out of the subway downtown when the first tower fell. she then jumped on a bus and sat with her fellow new yorkers, saying the rosary together, some in spanish, some in english. remembering thinking of all the people i'd lost touch with, wondering if they were anywhere near the tragedies. remembering how hollow i felt after i got home from work; that i cried for the entire drive home, that i felt like i couldn't bring a child into such a scary world, one that contained such hatred.
my kids brought me their book choices. selkie had a charlie and lola, and milo had randomly picked "between the towers", a book about philippe petit--the man who walked between the two world trade center towers back in 1974. again the towers were alive in the illustrations. this time the baby i carried was next to me, able to talk about the attacks, able to process in his own way what had happened.
ten years passed. just like that.
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