The last time, the only time, we hired movers was September 11th, 2001. They came on time, as we sat, still in our pajamas, our hands and faces weak with incomprehensible grief. We were supposed to finish 2 or 3 more hours of preparing and packing, so that everything could be ready for the full day ahead of us. I was up just at 7, and followed my habit of checking the television for a forecast and tidbits. William, drowsy, sat beside me amid boxes and mess. Everything we knew and believed was suddenly shaken and thrown to the ground, and we could not know when the devastation would end; nor how far it might spread.
As though radios and televisions were a lifeline between ourselves and New York, D.C., and Pennsylvania, we kept them on; it felt disrespectful to shut out their voices, their suffering, their hope. We had to absorb as much as we could, feel as much as we could. We were thousands of miles away, but our hearts were close enough to touch.
Most mornings I turn on the news. I used to prefer morning news to the more sensationalized late night news. Morning news is sprinkled with homey sets and cooking tips, but late news assumes a more foreboding tone. So now, I watch with mild trepidation, and shallow breathing. I watch for anything that might signal another day of inconceivable destruction, and the weather. I thought I merely hoped for a smattering of celebrity news, a movie review, a hometown report of good fortune or heroism, but I realize that there is a child inside of me, and she hopes for a morning when what shattered security, and ripped a ragged line across our memories, could somehow be reversed, or at least profoundly healed.
Naively, quietly, I have sat with the sun rising over my shoulder, the cat rolling on my feet, and waiting for a good weather forecast and a news report of "millions marching in peace and world hunger erased" or "cancer cured, now, today." My experience, and dark humor, my cynicism, none of it has completely eclipsed the longing I shelter for everything to be all better; for the fear to subside, for comfort, healing and trust.
I am embarrassed to admit that I am nervous about next Tuesday. Movers are scheduled to come, and we have to be packed and ready for a long day. I watch the news, and try to follow the movements of forces, good and bad, trends, markets, and signs. I try to be rational, completely level headed. I have been prayerfully thankful for how well our home sale, and new plans have been going so far. Really, it has been smooth and full of great results. But now Nena is gone, like Bongo when we first moved here, and I can feel my breathing is shallow and I feel the ache of wanting everything to be all better. All better for us all. My faith may be shaken, but it won't be left on the ground. I better get off my butt and make a better news day.
Susan G. Komen Foundation :: San Diego Affiliate
Habitat for Humanity International
Charitable organization for sustainable development - Heifer International
Rancho Coastal Humane Society -
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