I'll never forget that day.
My granddaughter Cady
was a year old
and we were watching
Bear In The Big Blue House.
Bear is big and orange
and full of fun.
And Cady loved Bear's friend,
Tutter- a little blue-gray mouse
whose tiny voice was just
so precious.
The scene was colorful and happy
and the weather was cool and "fallish"
and we had no worries.
But then I got the call
from my sister Tina.
"Oh, my gosh- what do you think
about all that?"
"All what?" I asked, sensing the
fear in her voice.
Then she proceeded to tell me that
the Twin Towers had been hit
by an airplane.
At that time, no one really knew
for sure what had caused it,
but I had to turn off Bear
and see for myself.
Hours of sickening depression took over.
Then fear and hopelessness and
compassion for all the victims.
One day of news poured into weeks
of watching and crying and trying
to grasp the evil event.
My life turned gray and black.
Sooty and smoky.
Weepy and dusty.
Weak and weary.
I became mesmerized
and hypnotized
with the scenes of panic
and rescue
and grief.
I became despondent
and disillusioned.
I wondered how my life
could go from a colorful cartoon
to the blackness of a terrorist attack.
It was unreal.
Gradually, the color came back
into my life.
I made myself shake off
the residue of Hell.
But for the first time
in my life,
I feared that I would never get
to see my kids grow up-
that maybe life as we knew it was over.
But somehow-
Bear and Tutter
continued their childish mischief
and I watched daily as Cady's face
lit up with smiles and laughter.
Being alive and loving
was the best thing I could do
for this poor old world.
Today I pray again
in memory of 9-11
and the lives that were lost.
