Unexpected Gift

I suppose there must be some subconscious symbolism to my very first post being on 9-11.  Nine years ago, with disbelief at the unfolding tragedy, I made a call to my husband to say, at first, that there'd been a horrible plane crash. But as the minutes and hours went on, the reality of terrorism emerged, the United States united, heroes were born...and died.  My youngest child was eight years old, my oldest was twenty, and there were three in between.

On this 9-11, I face a very different reality.  At Eastertime, my husband lost a daughter, four sisters lost their sibling, and I lost the baby that shared my breath, my blood, my heartbeat. In the worst moments, I ache from a piece of my soul that is missing.  In the best moments, I hold on very tightly to the four daughters who want me to laugh again, to the man who's held on tightly to all of us--to me--for decades, to friends who have made the unbearable bearable, and to a faith that says this, too, shall pass.

We'll see you again, Annie.  Mwah.

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