i was at LAX this morning. i was at terminal 3. i was leaving from gate 33. i ran down that same hallway to make my flight, approximately one hour before the shooting started.
i was with people in line for security who were bemoaning their delays, who were inevitably going to have to wait because of inclement east coast weather, who, in the end, had to wait for other reasons.
they waited: mothers and children, couples about to leave on their honeymoon, business people . . .
they all waited, and were there for hours and hours. they heard the gun or didn't; they saw the young man shoot or didn't; they ran for their lives or hit the floor, praying like we all would have prayed.
i was almost one of them.
we spend our lives in these almost-moments: the could-have-been-me moments, the there-but-for-the-grace-of-god-go-i moments. i can't pretend to be anything but full of gratitude that my plane was already in the sky, that i was safe, that i was sound. i can't pretend that what happened today will soon fade from my veins; that i will soon lose the almost-feeling that shakes me to my core tonight.
life goes on. my life continues.
but the almost of this day brushed so close to me. touched my skin and made me stop for a moment and bow my head among the rows of other almost-peoples; close my eyes to the news reports on the tiny tv screens and say a brief thank you, thank you, thank you to whomever is listening. and then send out as much strength and love as i can muster to those left behind, waiting, waiting, waiting.
almost is good enough today.
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