5 years...

Like everyone who lived in the New York/New Jersey metropolitan area, I awoke on September 11, 2001 to sunshine and a brilliant, cloudless blue sky. It was one of those days that seemed, on the surface, to be full of optimism. The big picture windows in my living room and dining room seemed to be framing some sort of beautiful, end-of-the-summer weather cliché. Autumn was on the way, and cold weather and snow were sure to follow – so a perfect day like that had to be appreciated. If I’d walked out on my porch and a cartoon bluebird had landed on my shoulder, it would’ve seemed completely acceptable and not at all out-of-place. And no doubt it would’ve been shortly followed by a small herd of deer, a pair of fluffy bunnies, and a smiling, whistling mailman, who would dole out my daily mail along with a cheerful rendition of “Oh What a Beautiful Mornin’.” But this lovely, idyllic fantasy was shattered in two seconds when I performed one simple, mundane act.

I turned on the TV.

After that, it was hours of disbelief and phone calls and horrible images and emails and crying and fear and confusion and more phone calls and the overwhelming feeling that the world was coming to some kind of sudden, abrupt end. At some point I went out to the grocery store, because, in the event of the world continuing, I needed food. It seemed pointless at the time – and judging from the glazed, glassy eyes of the other shoppers, everyone else thought it was pointless, as well. Was the sky still blue? Was the sun still shining? I couldn’t see anymore. We could’ve been inundated with thunderstorms that afternoon, for all I know. We could’ve been buried under a foot of snow. We could’ve all been struck by lightning… and I suppose, in some sort of metaphorical way, we were. Like we were all just sleeping peacefully, and then we were very rudely and suddenly jarred awake.

I remember there was a funeral home in Denville, New Jersey – close to a Starbucks we used to frequent. And I can remember for weeks after 9/11, there’d be lines of people spilling out the door of that funeral home. Every time we drove past. The obituary page in the newspaper had to be expanded – and the font type had to be shrunk down smaller – to fit in all the names that appeared day after day. Flights were cancelled, entire television stations went dark, sporting events were called off. Everything in life suddenly seemed to be backwards and twisted and upside down and frightening…

I think it was several weeks before I tentatively emerged from my small little bubble of blanketed gloom. One of the things that helped me, at least, start to regain a sense of normalcy was our All-American Pastime, baseball. It was amazing how a silly little thing like the baseball playoffs became a kind of support system. As long as we still had our baseball – as long as I still had my Yankees – maybe the world wouldn’t come to a crashing, screeching halt after all. I went to game five of the Yankees/Mariners playoffs that year, with mom and dad and Faisal. It was the first time I’d been back into the city since 9/11, and the first time I’d ever seen metal detectors at Yankee Stadium. An American flag that had been recovered from the rubble of the World Trade Center was flying behind center field, and for a second or two, I may have had the slightest feeling of unease. But then the game started, the fans were screaming, the Yankees won, and I remembered just how much I loved that city.

I suppose things will never quite be the same as they were before 9/11. But things change, and life changes, no matter what events unfold throughout the decades. Today here in Austin, it’s rainy and we ARE being inundated with thunderstorms. But for today at least, the world continues to exist and just goes on spinning…

Me and my I heart NY shirt...