Through the Clouds of Debris

          The bright golden sunshine peeked through lacy white curtains and touched me gently on the forehead.

          “Wake up dear,” she seemed to whisper. “The day demands your attention.” I shook myself awake and realized I was running late.

         “Drat that alarm clock!” I thought aloud. Now I would have to rush three kids and a husband out the door and it was going to be like a grizzly bear circus. Jennifer, the oldest would be wearing her best Oscar the Grouch, Amy would wait until five minutes before the bus came to get up, Brandon would just not speak, and Carl would be complaining about no time for breakfast. Then there was Tiffany and Jacob. They didn’t have to get up, but they would. Tiffany would be crying, just because that was what she always did upon waking and Jacob (bless his heart) would be wet. We began a normal day.

         After I watched the “three bears” board the bus and kissed my husband off to work, I sat down with Tiffany and Jacob to drink cold coffee and watch Little Bear on Nickelodeon. Of course this didn’t last long because Tiffany (my two year old) was not very interested in sitting still. So we left Little Bear to fend for himself and set about cleaning the house. Tiffany grabbed her broom, I grabbed mine, and we got that floor doubly clean.

         When we were satisfied that here were no more cobwebs, we decided to have brunch, which consisted of a plain tuna salad and deep fired tater tots. We had eaten about three bites when the phone rang. It was Carl calling from work. At first, it seemed to be just his everyday “Hey honey. What are you doing?” call. However, it soon became clear that he was worried about something. He asked me if I was watching television. At the time, of course, we were watching Nick jr. and I told him so. He insisted that I turn on our favorite news channel FOX8. Now, since it was only nine in the morning and I knew the news itself had already ended, I tried to get him to tell me what was going on. But, as soon as FOX8 appeared, it became evident. An airplane had crashed into the side of one of the towers of the World Trade Center. He had heard about it on the radio he always listened to at work and wanted me to watch it. Assured that I would fill him in when he got home, he went back to work and I went back to feeding my face.

          Following this rather brief conversation, I watched as another plane crashed into the other tower! Now I knew something was wrong! The commentators were talking about sabotage and terrorism. We had heard a lot of this talk before and there had always been a lot of death and destruction. But as I watched that plane land in the side of that building, I had a deep feeling of impending doom that none of the others quite matched. I sat fearfully glued to the television as the horrific scene played out before me. I gasped as the first tower began to collapse.

          Immediately I picked up the phone and called my husband. I told him frantically what was going on. He had to coax me into calming down because I had started to ramble. Suddenly I fell silent. The second tower was now collapsing and I was crying. How could someone deliberately do this? Who hated those people (and America) so much? Had we made enemies so awful? All of these questions flashed through my mind instantly. I realized, after what seemed like eternity, that my husband was asking me what was happening. I tried to tell him without choking up, but I failed. He reassured me that everything would be OK and we hung up. I had an eerie feeling as I sat there watching my two year old “clean” the coffee table.

          Then I picked up the phone again and called my mother, no answer. I called my sister. “Good ole sis” was home and didn’t know a thing about it. I filled her in, adding the fact that another plane had been heading for Washington and had apparently crashed before reaching its destination. She was just as upset as I was. Even though we cried for most of the conversation, I was still glad to hear her voice.

         After hanging up with sis, I tried to change the channel, just to take my mind off it for a while, but I didn’t succeed. Every time I tried some new idea about why came bursting off the screen sticking the buttons on my remote. This was horrible. My mind was racing with no order at all.

          MY KIDS! Although I knew my children were safe at school, I wanted desperately to go get them. I just wanted them close. I wanted to see them, hear them and touch them. I CALLED THE SCHOOL! After about twenty minutes of busy signal, I finally got through. The secretary nervously assured me that my children were safe and that if there were any apparent danger close to home, they would call us promptly to come and get them. This did not do much for my mothering instincts. I was very anxious to have my whole family within fingertip reach. I called mom again. Still no answer. I knew that my mom was working and she probably had left her phone in the car to charge or she just didn’t have it on. Because she worked setting up displays in retail stores, her work took her all over the triad area. Therefore, I had no idea of exactly where she was. This didn’t do much for my “daughtering” instincts.

         I sat back down in front of the television. Now they were showing (over and over again) the towers falling with miles of debris and smoke falling out from them, the scared dirty jumpers, and the frantic tearful faces of the people uncertain of their loved ones’ demise. Then the local newscasters came on and informed us that Greensboro could be a potential target for terrorism. They were saying that Greensboro houses a large amount of airplane fuel, which, if it exploded, could wipe out the entire triad! That was too close for comfort. I was now desperate for my children and my husband to come home and frantic that I couldn’t reach my mother. The thought occurred to me that her work sometimes took her to Greensboro. I called her again. This time she answered. RELIEF was the first thing I felt. She said that she had heard about it and that they (her coworkers and herself) were watching it on a tiny television that the store had set up for them. I could tell from her shaky voice that she had been crying too.

         Later that afternoon I stood on the porch anxiously waiting for my children to arrive. Jacob was playing happily with his truck in the front yard and Tiffany sat in front of me pointing out the trees and birds and laughing as the wind tickled her ears. “Here they are!” Jacob wanted to run out of the fence to meet his siblings but I was too paranoid to let him in the road. I ran to the gate and slung it open just as they reached it. I grabbed them all three and held on so tight that they were all gasping for air.

         “Mom!” Jennifer exclaimed, as she broke free from my grasp. “What’s wrong with you?” I didn’t know what to say. I always waited for them outside on the porch or in the yard and I always greeted them with a hug and a kiss, but there was urgency in my heart today. I tried to tell them what was going on without letting that urgency out, but I didn’t succeed at that either. We went on in the house and tried to continue as if everything was all right even though we all knew it wasn’t. The children argued through their homework and I tried to keep peace while cooking supper and defending the stove from babies. Seemed normal enough.

         Carl arrived home just as Jennifer and I were setting the table. We ate a delicious dinner of fried chicken, creamed potatoes, corn on the cob, and green beans. The children complained about having to eat one thing or another, Tiffany donned a creamed potato hat, and the floor ate most of the food. We had a normally enjoyable meal.

         That night, as I was scooting my children off to bed, Jennifer came to me with tears in her eyes. She handed me a folded, slightly damp piece of paper, kissed me on he cheek, told me she loved me and ran to her room. The note read:

“Dear Mom and Dad. If anything happens to us I want you to know that I love you very much!”

          More tears came rushing out as I read, and I could not move for a while. What do you say to an eight year old who writes or even thinks something like this? Of course, I tried not to expose them to the news this day, but they overheard enough. Reporters chanting about war and death all evening and their father and I talking about it when we thought they weren’t listening. I put on my best mom suit and went to try and console her. I talked to her about all the times I had heard the same chanting when I was a kid and how “I’m still here, see?” I tried to make her laugh with my funniest story, she grinned. I finally climbed into the bed beside her and held her tightly until she fell asleep.

         When I was satisfied that she was out, I went into the living room and fell into the waiting arms of the man I love. He held me close and safe as tears of sadness and relief fell unchecked on his once dry shirt. I had never been more thankful for these arms than at this moment. Neither of us could understand how something like this could happen and it took us both a long time to find the sweet peace of sleep that night.

         A few weeks later, when the sun peeked through those same lacy white curtains, she found no forehead to caress. I was in the kitchen already busy with book bags and scrambled eggs. This time as I watched the “three bears” board the bus and kissed my husband off to work, I did so with the utmost gratitude. I was grateful that I could wake “Oscar the Grouch”; Grateful that I could hear Tiffany cry, Carl complain and Brandon be silent; Grateful that I could wake Amy on the fifteenth try, and I was even grateful for Jacob’s wet bed. I had learned from those fateful events that life is short and we should never take for granted the “normal” of every day.