Coffee Break

A beautiful Tuesday morning. Blue skies overhead, sun shining brightly, and the view towards Manhattan is clear and bright. A perfect day. So, why am I sitting on my deck, having a mug of strong coffee, attempting to feel joy again?

Deep breaths, loving thoughts, and warm sunshine help ease the pain and sorrow my empathic self is feeling after watching an hour of the 9-11 Memorial on television. I'm not sure if was seeing the young teenagers honoring s lost parent or grandparent, or hearing our cousin's name spoken over the speakers that started the lump in my throat. No, it had to be seeing so many children's names and ages displayed at the bottom of the screen. I never remember seeing that before.

Lives lost. Memories etched into the very soul of generations of Americans.

Reflecting on 9-11-01 is never easy for me. I will never forget walking into the Seven Bridges Ice Arena in Woodbridge, Illinois on that beautiful morning. I was feeling terrible about having to take our elder cat, Quincy, to the vet to meet his maker. He was 21 years old, very ill, and unable to make the move to New York from Illinois. After 16 years in Chicaogland, my family was heading back to the East Coast under unhappy circumstances.

As I escorted my 11-year old daughter into the ice rink, a sprawling three rink building set in an extinct corn field, its parking lot graced with a free-standing Krispy Kreme Donut Shop, I couldn't help notice that the lobby was dead silent. Eyes were transfixed on the television mounted in the corner of the large room.

"Why is the World Trade Center on fire?" I asked as I paid for the ice time. "Is that a movie or for real? That doesn't look very good."

The kids were oblivious to what was happening, but my daughter's coach gave me a look from across the room and shook his head sadly. My daughter was putting on her skates as I approached her coach.

"I want to get the kids on the ice as soon as possible. They should not know what is going on right now," he said with concern. I saw panic in his steel blue eyes, something that the Russian coach never showed. Displeasure at a student, yes. Panic, no. He got one of the older kids, a lanky boy named Evan Lysacek, who would go on to win an Olympic Gold Medal and Dancing With the Stars, to hurry the kids along. They loved when Evan would occasionally lead them in a warm-up around the rink.

As the children skated on, we watched the second tower get hit, and eventually fall.

"Do you still have to move there?"

"Yes," I replied.

Eleven years later, the shock of that day remains, forever a tattoo on my soul.