Many of you know that our youngest son, (4 yrs old) was flown to John's Hopkins Medical Center for a potential spinal cord injury. Obviously this event is one of the most pressing moments of catharsis in my life, however, I feel the perspective is demanded from the events leading up to this...I will write tomorrow on Alex and his miracle.
It's amazing sometimes what Life demands, what it expects and what it reveals. Saturday started in a beautiful way, with our second son receiving his First Holy Communion. Holy it was. Full of excitement and little boys in blue blazers and girls in little white dresses and every one of them thinking about how to recite their prayers and fold their hands, when to kneel and when to stand and most of all to behave and remember they are in a very special, Holy moment. All eyes were on them, many of whom had flown in from afar, wide eyed at the innocence and sense of earnest good from these children: perfect for a moment in time. I tried to revel in this space, to breath in the energy, to digest the 1000 people standing together to be closer to God, to each other, beyond ourselves and our lives. It was truly a perfect moment.
But when it was over, it was over. We headed off immediately to New York City, to hear our oldest son play piano at Carnegie Hall with the American Protege Competition. Before we left however, we insisted that my parents join us, much to their consternation. It wasn't as though they didn't want to go; quite the opposite, they very much wanted to go. However, they didn't think that Mom particularly, was up to the trip. New York is for walkers- not my mother's strong point at the moment. But we talked about it, and finally it was decided that they would join us. Up the Jersey Turnpike we went. Up up up, rush rush rush. We refreshed and rushed some more, in and out of trains, fussing with tickets, leading our little pack of three generations, all in suits and ties and dresses, under and in, over and on busy trains with people of all shapes and sizes mostly surviving the tough city life.
The concert was truly incredible, especially at the moment that I realized these children (these other children) were world-class- who literally could have stepped into the shoes of any concert pianist. That's when the fear of God crept inside me and camped out. "What have I done to my son???", I thought to myself. He's good, yes, but world-class? Mind-blowing? A master of piano at the level of Elton John, but MUCH better??? NO! I thought I would hyper-ventilate, or run, grab my son, thank him for coming on the trip, and practicing 5 times a day and tell him we just had to leave, for, um, well- just because. Right now! Before it's too late!
Except there was only one small problem- we were in the front row! Also my red heals and 5 of us were not inconspicuous... So I sat, painfully, taking shallow breaths as each little prodigy crossed the stage and commanded the piano...
Slowly but surely, the skill level of the children came down from the stratosphere. Very slowly. They were now very good, and I was beginning to regain color in my face...
It was Christian's turn. I held my breath, nearly passed out, and prayed. He did wonderfully (what I can remember as I am completely blank on the first piece). He smiled bowed dutifully and then bowed again, and then again. When I asked him if he was nervous, he quickly responded "No," as he cocked his head side ways as if to imply "Why?"
After the concert, we all felt like we had run a 5K in 3 inch heals at night, and everyone was ready for bed, but I INSISTED we go to Time Square. My poor parents, eyes widened as if to say "You have nearly killed us, is that not enough?" And then they did the thing that we, as parents do, they said "Okay honey, if you really want to go," and I said "Absolutely, you will never forget it!" Boy, was I right.
When we arrived in Time Square, we headed toward the Marriott Marquis. But there was some commotion...lots of police cars arriving...people standing there, confused, watching, waiting. We thought nothing of it, and continued to map our plans. It finally occurred to us that perhaps there is a real problem- well yes there was, if you count an attempted bombing. We quickly exited the area, said a few Hail Mary's on the subway and dragged ourselves home.
The next day upon seeing the World Trade Center site, along with its Memorial museum, the near miss of our lives became all too real, too familiar, as the decidedly different outcome of our trip sank in. We felt like we were standing in a place looking at our souls, like it was so easily us, in that moment, gone from this world in one obliterated second. It was shocking and disturbing and deeply moving; we had evaded death by the hand of a miracle. We thought the most challenging part of our trip would be the pure act of getting from here to there, that perhaps walking from block to block would just take it all out of us. Little did we know that what we thought of as a moment of inconvenience would stare us in the face as if looking into a mirror of the past: "The Time Square Disaster That Wasn't." It was as though there were voices of what could have been, but sadly, of what was. The museum is largely family members' mementos of those killed. It's their "Lost" pictures, their personal photos of World Trade Center, their lives, their pain. On this quiet Sunday, and the 'hole' that exists like a quiet whisper of tragedy that stretched before us hissed what we missed, what we gained, and where we were going...a future of promise, of hope, of long walks in painful shoes, moments of bliss and, hopefully, the miracle of missing tragedy within a moment. I just wish there was a "9/11 Catastrophe Avoided" headline that I could always remember, that I clipped out, put aside in "special" folder and came across, like this day, one which I am so thankful to remember, and I will never forget.
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