Bit Part
I don't remember Friday night. I think I was working at MF's house, making things more livable for the big "Move-In".
Saturday was constant bridal commotion from the time I rose until I finally crashed. MF made sushi in my absence, leaving a generous amount of sashimi out for me when I made my way back, bleary and starving.
Sunday, I skipped church, preferring to spend the day with him -- something I have not had the luxury of in nearly three weeks. We've both been running around, working, involved in late meetings, home improvements, social musts and the like. I felt like I was talking to a stranger for a bit. Funny how fast a couple can disconnect, especially when there's loads of activity. (Note to self: when we have children -- pay attention.)
He made a fabulously rich brunch of "heavenly hash" (fried hash browns, green bell peppers, bits of sausage and Canadian bacon and cheese) complete with toasted English muffins and cherry jam. We skipped lunch.
For the remainder of the day, I stayed parked in front of the television beneath a mountain of blankets, watching recaps and memorials of the 9/11 tragedy. The National Geographic Channel featured prominently. (The History Channel's coverage made me yell curses at the TV.) Story after story, anecdote after anecdote I listened, sad and numb, trying to make sense of it all.
One businessman recalled a group of men who helped him out of the WTC building. One gentleman from the group instructed him to the stairs, told him how to get out and then headed back up the tower, yelling for any more survivors who were trapped. He and his group were never seen again.
I began to imagine what my role would have been. I probably would have helped a few and then hiked my butt outta' there. Then I thought of what MF would do.
I know where he works. I know the basic layout. I know some of his coworkers. And I know exactly what they would have done -- he and his friend Greg, in particular. I began to cry. About 2 minutes later, MF appeared in the doorway, cracking some joke about having to host an intervention in order to keep me away from the television. I just flailed my hands in a come-here-and-hug-me sort of motion.
"What?" he asked.
I blurted it all out; how I knew that he would have spent his last seconds saving others regardless of the danger to himself; that if he had been in the WTC that day, National Geographic would be interviewing me. I pictured him and Greg climbing the stairs with their staff badges and their Blackberries on their belts, shouting for survivors and bustling them downstairs.
It was a good hug.
Later that night, I went to a memorial service at church. It was also an anointing ceremony for the sick and the hurting. Instinctively, I went down front. The Pastor asked what I needed. I thought about how far away I've been spiritually. How I don't read and pray as much as I once did. How I've been so concerned with myself lately. How great my desire is for my marriage and my future children to be rooted in the life of God. How much division has taken place in our churches, our cities, our country, our world. How so few people seem to want to take the time to slow down and be still. How everyone is far too busy engaging in hate and blame and revenge. How the Word of God is not continually on my lips.
"Renewal." I said.
He made the sign of the cross on my forehead with the oil and laid his hand on my head. And as I kneeled at the altar, all was quiet.
Saturday was constant bridal commotion from the time I rose until I finally crashed. MF made sushi in my absence, leaving a generous amount of sashimi out for me when I made my way back, bleary and starving.
Sunday, I skipped church, preferring to spend the day with him -- something I have not had the luxury of in nearly three weeks. We've both been running around, working, involved in late meetings, home improvements, social musts and the like. I felt like I was talking to a stranger for a bit. Funny how fast a couple can disconnect, especially when there's loads of activity. (Note to self: when we have children -- pay attention.)
He made a fabulously rich brunch of "heavenly hash" (fried hash browns, green bell peppers, bits of sausage and Canadian bacon and cheese) complete with toasted English muffins and cherry jam. We skipped lunch.
For the remainder of the day, I stayed parked in front of the television beneath a mountain of blankets, watching recaps and memorials of the 9/11 tragedy. The National Geographic Channel featured prominently. (The History Channel's coverage made me yell curses at the TV.) Story after story, anecdote after anecdote I listened, sad and numb, trying to make sense of it all.
One businessman recalled a group of men who helped him out of the WTC building. One gentleman from the group instructed him to the stairs, told him how to get out and then headed back up the tower, yelling for any more survivors who were trapped. He and his group were never seen again.
I began to imagine what my role would have been. I probably would have helped a few and then hiked my butt outta' there. Then I thought of what MF would do.
I know where he works. I know the basic layout. I know some of his coworkers. And I know exactly what they would have done -- he and his friend Greg, in particular. I began to cry. About 2 minutes later, MF appeared in the doorway, cracking some joke about having to host an intervention in order to keep me away from the television. I just flailed my hands in a come-here-and-hug-me sort of motion.
"What?" he asked.
I blurted it all out; how I knew that he would have spent his last seconds saving others regardless of the danger to himself; that if he had been in the WTC that day, National Geographic would be interviewing me. I pictured him and Greg climbing the stairs with their staff badges and their Blackberries on their belts, shouting for survivors and bustling them downstairs.
It was a good hug.
Later that night, I went to a memorial service at church. It was also an anointing ceremony for the sick and the hurting. Instinctively, I went down front. The Pastor asked what I needed. I thought about how far away I've been spiritually. How I don't read and pray as much as I once did. How I've been so concerned with myself lately. How great my desire is for my marriage and my future children to be rooted in the life of God. How much division has taken place in our churches, our cities, our country, our world. How so few people seem to want to take the time to slow down and be still. How everyone is far too busy engaging in hate and blame and revenge. How the Word of God is not continually on my lips.
"Renewal." I said.
He made the sign of the cross on my forehead with the oil and laid his hand on my head. And as I kneeled at the altar, all was quiet.
posted by WordGirl at 8:20 AM
2 comments
2 Comments:
Peace be with you, WG. May the Peace of God be with you, my friend.
And to you.
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