Best Day/Worst Day

When I was in high school, the movie City Slickers came out.  At the time, I thought it was hilarious.  Now that I'm older and understand intelligent, clever comedy, I realize it was really just an average movie.  But there was one scene that stood out to me even then.  It was a scene in which the men - unhappy in their middle age - begin discussing what were their best and worst days.  I struggled then to try and figure out how I would respond to that.  Now that I am older and have some experience behind me, I can absolutely answer it.

My best day is kind of hard to pin down.  I have had a lot of fun times.  I have been able to do many of the things I have wanted to do.  For the most part, I have had a very happy life thus far.  I have two beautiful children and while nothing has been more significant in my life than having my girls, I can't say that the days they were born were my best days.  Kate was born in my 29th week of pregnancy.  It was tense and scary.  Ultimately it was a wonderful outcome but at the time we were scared to death not knowing if she would be okay.  We had no idea what to expect.  All we knew was that we would not be taking our baby home for a long time so it wasn't exactly a time to celebrate.

With Meg, my post-partum depression had already kicked in (unbeknownst to me) so I was already in a bit of a downward spiral.  Her birth was not as dramatic as Kate's was by any means.  I was just kind of already in a fog.  We were relieved she was healthy, but at the time, I really was not.  I knew I loved her, but I was scared to death at the prospect of having a newborn PLUS a rambunctious almost two year old.    Again, the outcome was beautiful.  But at the time I wasn't myself.  So, neither day can go down as my best day.

What was my best day you may be wondering (if you are still reading)?  I would have to say it was the day after I got engaged to Mike.  The actual day-of was a pretty crappy day until about 9:00 that night when he popped the question.  But that next day I was absolutely floating.  I could not get over the sudden appearance of this beautiful ring I thought would never be on my finger.  I couldn't wait to talk about it with my family and friends.  Mike and I were free to talk about our future together without me fearing I sounded like a a psycho girl trying to sink my claws into the first man who didn't run away screaming.  I was so excited and giddy at what my future had in store with this wonderful man.  People were so kind and seemed genuinely happy for me.  It was a lovely day.  Although I was excited beyond words, I could not have known what a wonderful life I would have with him and then with our girls.  And things are still going strong.

My worst day, you may have gathered by the date of this post, was September 11, 2001.  It was the day after my birthday and the morning after my first quasi-fight with Mike.  He and I had come home from my birthday dinner to find that Dudley (my dog and now Mike's step-son) had experienced explosive, projectile diarrhea in our absence.  The little gift he had left us was all over Mike's pristine, cream-colored carpet.  Mike had spanked him even thought I had told him that Dudley wouldn't understand at that point why he was in trouble.  I was angry with Mike for hitting him especially after I had told him not to.  I didn't say much to Mike that night after it happened and after we scrubbed and scrubbed his floor (to no avail).

The next morning, I was still irritated with Mike and I had a headache.  I had an event later that day on campus where I worked and so I decided to go into work late.  I lied down on my couch in the den and closed my eyes listening to the Today Show.  That's when I heard about what was going on in New York City.  My first thought, like many of yours, was, "Man some air traffic controller is gonna get fired over this". Of course, the whole thing unfolded before my eyes and before the eyes of just about everyone in America that day. I was absolutely stunned at what I was watching.  Mike was supposed to be flying to Chicago that day and I grabbed the phone and called him to beg him not to go.  Of course, in the end, that decision was made for him.

I remember watching the TV on the phone with my sister when the first tower collapsed.  I was hysterical because I thought bombs were going off.  It just didn't occur to me that those massive buildings could fall.  Before the collapse I was just heartsick watching the images not only of people jumping to their deaths, but seeing those stuck above the impact zone you knew were not likely to make it out.  And when the cameras cut to a picture of the Pentagon engulfed in flames, that's when I lost my innocent, naive view of the world forever.  This was a deliberate, coordinated attack perpetrated by people who hated us.  I couldn't understand that kind of hatred.  I don't hate any group of people.  Why couldn't these people just live and let live?  What on earth would drive them to kill all of these innocent people?  There were towers collapsing.  The Pentagon was under attack.  There were other planes unaccounted for.  There was a sickening feeling in my stomach because you just didn't know what was going to happen next.  It was the most scared, sad and hopeless I have ever felt in my life.

I ended up going in to work because I just didn't know what else to do.  I was scared and felt so alone and helpless.  I knew that there had been tremendous loss of life (and I am still flabbergasted and grateful to the public servants and heroes who saw to it that the numbers were not higher that day).  I needed to be around people - although I was of no solace to any of them.  I needed Mike.  (Dudley's little gift the night before was a distant memory.)  He and I snuggled up together that night and listened to President Bush and Rudy Giuliani try to calm the public while clearly stating that the people responsible for this would pay.  I was grateful for their words.  I had a lump in my throat watching our members of congress come together and sing God Bless America.   I felt such pride that I really hadn't thought about before about being an American.  Sure, I knew I was lucky to have been born and raised in this country, but I never understood what it meant until that day.

I cried a lot that day and in the days to follow.  The more TV coverage was on, the more I watched it.  I listened to people's stories of loss and stories of survival.  There were so many heroic acts that day.  I'm sure that there were several acts of heroism that none of us will ever know about because those involved did not live to tell the tales.  To this day, I can get absorbed into a 9/11 documentary no matter what I'm doing.  I feel like I need to watch those stories in order to honor the dead. 

It's been ten years and it as still as vivid to me and to so many as though it was yesterday.  It is still so utterly scary and indescribably sad.  Our understanding of our world has changed.  The world in which our kids will grow up is different than the world we thought we were growing up in.  And let's not forget the thousands of people who lost someone they loved that day.   So very sad.  And still so very real.

I have been glued to the coverage of the tenth anniversary of that horrible day.  So much has changed in my life since that day that I am so grateful for.  I got engaged and married in 2002.  I had my kids.  Have had various nieces and nephews.  Have had a lot of happy times. But nothing will ever be quite the same for those of us who were living during 9/11.  And my experience is nothing compared to those who were there or who lost someone.  But it is part of our collective consciousness as a nation.  To be an American is to remember where you were and what you were doing that morning.  And so, too, is it American to find ways to press on and live a good and happy life.

So, as we mark the decade that has passed since that horrific day, let us hold our loved ones close and never forget how quickly our world can change.  Let us find ways to honor those whose duty is to run into the burning buildings as the rest of us run out.  And let us all be thankful for every gift that we have.  We all have a lot more than we could have.  God Bless America indeed.