Monday, May 2, 2011

Monday Musings

What a weekend!!

First, a birth certificate.

Then, a royal wedding.

Then, a trip to the ER for a broken arm.

Then, a terrorist was killed.

Only one of these four things impacted my family directly, but I think I’ll talk about the one that had the greatest indirect effect on my life.

It was a Tuesday. I was driving to Spiro, OK, to do my job as a bank examiner for the government. I was 24 years old. I was listening to the radio, as was my habit while driving to the ends of the earth, and suddenly all I could find was news on the radio.

World Trade Center

New York


I remember stopping to use the restroom at a convenience store and I ducked in and ducked out as quickly as I could.

When I got to Spiro, the images on the TV were even more unbelievable than the stories I’d heard on the radio.




I stayed in a motel that night in Poteau, America. After hours and hours of watching the news on the TV, I had to get out. I went to Wal-Mart. There was no one there. The workers were all glued to TVs in the stores and stared at me like “why aren’t you at home watching TV?”




I probably bought some brownies and something to drink. My motel comfort food.

Then I finished my stay in Spiro and headed home for the weekend.

Our church service on Sunday included a photo montage of images of the burning buildings, the fiery planes, the terrified people. My hub stood crying beside me.

I looked over at him and said, “I’m not going to take my pill today.”

And he said, “Ok.”

I’d been on the fence concerning the whole child thing. I swore I’d never have children. I didn’t want to get fat. I didn’t think I’d be a suitable mother. I had three brothers who died, so I was sure my kids would die too if they were boys. I didn’t like kids, so I didn’t think they were a good idea. 

My husband thought he wanted one, and if we had one, we’d need another because he and I both were only children in our families, and the first one would need someone to play with.

And so it was a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day that plunged me off into the sea of anticipating motherhood. It was a terrorist that I blame for my children. A terrorist who is now dead.

I’m happy to say I was wrong about children and motherhood and dying and getting fat (well, depends on the day) and all the things I thought seemed like excellent excuses to never try it. I’ve had an enormous amount of fun and pride and love and stickiness that I could not have experienced without them. They complete me and I’m a better person for having had them. I think.

So even though my kids are too young to understand the implications of the death of a terrorist, I want them to know that good can be found in even the grimmest of circumstances. People are changed by such traumatic experiences. People do extraordinary things that they wouldn’t normally have done.

And we will never forget!


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