Category Archives: I didn’t say it was all going to be funny

R.I.P. Mr. C.

I thought I was prepared.  I was wrong.  So, so wrong.

It’s been one month before I could even write this post.

Four weeks ago I got up around 4am and went down the hall to use the bathroom.  Mr. Cooper was lying in the hallway in an odd position.  As I got closer I could hear his breath was wheezy and shallow.  Crap.  I woke up Johnny and told him that I thought we were at the end of the line.  He agreed.  I drug my pillow and a blanket out into the hallway and laid next to him, assuring him that it was alright to go.  I awoke around 7am and he had moved into the living room but again, he was laying in a spot he’s never laid in before.   I decided that work could wait and I’d spend the day with him.  We slept a little while and I kept stroking his head, telling him goodbye.  I prayed he’d just peacefully pass on his own.

After awhile I realized he hadn’t been outside since the night before.  I asked him if he needed to go and he responded with a  meek but certain “yes”, but just laid there.   He slowly lifted his head and his tail gently thumped, and then it hit me.  He couldn’t stand up.  I stood over him and laced my knuckles under his belly and gently tried to help him to his feet as we’ve done lately when he’s fallen.  I put yoga mats all over the house to help with his traction but this was different.

His back legs just buckled.

They say you’ll know when it’s time , and I knew. I called our clinic and miraculously they’d had a noon cancelation.  This Doctor does not normally do house calls but he had examined Mr. Cooper three weeks ago for a “quality of life assessment” so he knew we were in a dire situation.  As I waited to for Johnny to come home I kept stroking his head and whispering to him.  I recounted some of our happy times and told him that we’d had a good run and now it’s time to rest.  He laid with his sweet head in my hands and drifted in and out.

The Doc showed up with an assistant and a gurney.  They couldn’t have been more professional or compassionate.   They explained what was going to go down and consoled me the best they could on what was the worst day of my life.

It was peaceful and perfect and although my heart aches I know I did the right thing.  Laying around waiting to die with a full bladder sounds like no fun to me.  The Doc assured me I made the right decision.   The old Mr. Cooper wouldn’t have stood for 2 strangers man-handling him so I knew he was fading on me by his lack of a response.  They gently slipped the needle into his left paw and I held his head in my hands.  I looked into his droopy eyes and I told him I loved him.  I told him I’d always love him.  I tried so hard to keep my voice calm and peaceful and not to be wracked with sobs, but it was tough.  It’s funny, I never questioned it until it was over and then I questioned everything.  Euthanasia is a weird thing.  His pain stopped and mine started.

Now the house feels empty.  I keep looking for him.  I wake up and think it was all just a bad dream.  I hear his collar shake in the hallway and hear his rear end going out the doggy door.  I go from intense grief to terrible anger in a single breath.  I thought we had more time.  Why didn’t we have more time?  Why is my best friend gone?

People tell me I should get another dog.  I need somewhere for the “love to go”.  I don’t want another dog, I want THAT DOG back.  That scruffy smelly bad breath-having crooked toothed floppy eared dog that shed red wiry hair everywhere possible and that I loved like I’ve never loved anything before.

I hear it will get better.  At least I hope it will. The other day Ella was looking at me trying to hold back tears as I made her lunch.  I was biting my lip and trying to hold it together as she’s only 9 and she loved him as well.  She came up and hugged me and said “it’s okay,  I know your heart is broken”.

It is broken, Ella, and on top of that, there’s a huge hole in it.

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CHEERS!

Happy New Year, y’all!

How was yours?  Did you celebrate?  Did you drink champagne?  Did you trip the light fandango?  Did you sit around in dirty sweatpants shooting whiskey while watching “Breaking Bad” dvd’s?

Oh wait, that last one was probably just me.

So, 2012 is in the books and I for one am thrilled.  It wasn’t the worst year, by far, but it certainly had its challenges.  We lost Johnny’s Father.  I couldn’t find gainful employment to save my life until a really fortunate fourth quarter rally in September.  Did I mention that I got a rejection letter from Trader Joe’s in 2012?    We bought a restaurant that subsequently tried to kill me despite my best efforts whilst manning a 550 degree oven in the scorching summer heat of East Tennessee.

We thought my house in Nashville was sold (finally!) but as luck would have it the deal fell through thanks to my incompetent and lazy realtor so guess what?  Unexpected mortgage payment at Christmastime!  O Holy Shitballs.

Anyway, there were plenty of things that went right (four more years!)  in 2012, but by and large it was a year that I’m grateful to put behind me.

That’s what she said!

So once yet again I’m back on the bandwagon.  Well, the wagon, for starters.  No booze.  I’m ready to ONCE again try to reinvent myself and my lifestyle.  The only person more incredibly sick of this bullshit besides you guys is my husband himself.  You think this is getting old?  TRY LIVING WITH ME.

But listen!  Don’t leave!  I’m serious this time!  OMG I’m like the battered wife that won’t press charges on her abusive mate.  THIS TIME IT’LL BE DIFFERENT, OFFICER, I PROMISE!

Seriously though, in 2013 I will turn 45 and I am a good ten or so years behind on getting honest and adult about my lifestyle and my choices.  I am too damn old to get the band back together but not too old to rock it occasionally.  I will not bore you yet again on the details but here we go.  AGAIN.

I read something the other day where someone yet again defined insanity as “doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results” and someone else commented that she thought it was a better example or definition of hope.

I like that.

So here’s to 2013.  It’s going to be our year, folks.  I’m bringing back sexy, clean eating and possibly yoga.  Quinoa can suck it but I’m down with some brown rice, yo.

I’m also heading up to Michigan in a few weeks to celebrate my Granny’s 106th (!) birthday.  Yessir.  She turns 106  on January 4th and is STILL LIVING ALONE and full of squash and vinegar.  Or Sherry.

Either way, stay tuned. Please.  Pretty please.

I hope you will, anyway.

I HOPE.

HOPE.

A repost from 2008.

IN MEMORIAM

This day is one of reverence and remembrance. No one will ever forget where they were or what they were doing when the monstrous attacks of September 11, 2001 occurred. I am no different.

Firstly, I will always remember what a beautiful crisp clear day it was.

I had just started my job with my current company. My boss and I had flown to Baltimore the day before, for a trade show. We were out late the the previous evening, schmoozing potential clients. That morning I awoke in my hotel room and turned on the TV. A Sandra Bullock movie was on, (28 Days) so I stuck with that, enjoying real cable TV for a change, and a cigarette. I gazed out the window at the perfect weather. We were to attend the trade show that day and fly out that evening. We had no idea what the day held for us.

As I walked into the lobby to meet my boss for our free continental breakfast, I heard screaming. I couldn’t make out what the woman was saying at first, but I heard her say “world trade center” and “airplane”. I didn’t think much about it, to tell you the truth. I thought some numbnut must have crossed into the wrong airspace with his Cessna 150. I kept walking. I got to my boss’s table and joined him as he was finishing his coffee and English muffin.

“Can you believe this shit”? he said, pointing to the lobby television. The news was broadcasting the collision of American Airlines Flight 11 into the World Trade Center. “Holy crap!”, I said. “So that’s what that woman was yelling about at the front desk”. We sat in silence riveted to the screen and subsequently watched in unbeliveable horror as the United Airlines Flight 175 approached and crashed into the second tower. I remember that I thought I was going to throw up. My brain could not process what my eyes had just witnessed. This isn’t a movie. That was not the work of special effects. All of those people on that plane just died in front of me.

I can liken it to witnessing the Challenger tragedy, somewhat. First, disbelief, and then an all encompassing sadness and terror. This was a much grander scale, however, something we had never witnessed before.

Tim and I stared in disbelief at each other. There were ever-changing conflicting reports coming in right and left and we were unsure as to what our next move should be. Planes are grounded. More planes are going down. People are JUMPING out of windows. (I still to this day cannot watch that footage. It makes my blood go cold.) Buildings are collapsing. The Mayor of Baltimore made up our mind for us. They decided to evacuate the downtown area, because of the proximity to Washington, DC. I have never been evacuated from anywhere before. It made me uncomfortable and edgy. No one had any answers.

We wisely decided to keep our rental car since there were no flights going anywhere that day. It took us some time to get out of the city, as everyone else had the same inclination. Over the course of the next 13 hours, we drove home to Tennessee from Baltimore, Maryland. We listened to the radio nonstop, which was exhausting. We both tried to process what was happening. I was very lucky to be in Tim’s company. Tim is one of the calmest, most level headed persons I know. He kept me from panicking and kept me from losing my mind, certainly. He assured me almost every half hour that everything was going to be okay. He let me borrow his cellphone to call my Mom and let her know that I was alright and my way home.
I may have been in my thirties, but that day made me want my Mommy.

He pulled up to my driveway around 2am on September 12th. He told me it was okay if I was a *little* late the next morning. Seriously.

I threw my bags on my living room floor and turned on the TV.

OH. MY. GOD.

Remember, I only watched the second plane hit the towers, and then wisely we hit the road. I had not witnessed what everyone else in America had been watching all day. All the terrible images of that day. The towers collapsing. People jumping. People screaming and crying. People HOLDING HANDS and jumping. Oh, God. It was gut wrenching and I sat motionless on my couch watching the days events unfold yet again, and sobbed.

I will never forget that day. I will never, ever, forget that almost 3,000 people got up that morning just like I did today. They showered, they got dressed and some had some breakfast, perhaps. They said goodbye to their loved ones and went to work. Just like you and I do every day. And on that day, almost 3,000 people did not come home. They will never see their parents, their children, their friends or their pets ever again. One minute they were tying their shoes and brushing their teeth and 3 hours later they were hurling themselves out of a sky scraper.

I salute the dead, the survivors and the heros of that day. I was a little wishy washy at first on even posting about this topic. Hey, remember China had a huge earthquake a few months ago? What about the Tsunami? Katrina? Horrible tragic events occur and the world keeps on spinning, I realize that. But I for one won’t let this day pass without prayers and an somber acknowledgement. I have the utmost respect and humility for those who were there that day. Those who lost someone. Those who were lost. Those who still have not recovered. Those who are still waiting for someone to open the front door and just come home.

There are no words. Just prayers.

I’m going to start drinking my dinner.

So you guys have been with me on a few of my journeys like boot camp and long distance bike rides and a few diets. I think I’m starting on another one.

Last week I was working as a temp in a warehouse. On my lunch break I popped into a Subway, and got my usual: an oven roasted chicken breast sandwich on whole wheat with all the trimmings. On my second bite I saw something a little wonky in my sandwich. I’m trying to type right now despite my gag reflex. It looked to be a little tube. I attempted to pull it out but it ran the length of the “chicken breast”. I nearly puked. It may sound ridiculously naive, but I seriously thought that my “oven roasted chicken breast” was actually a chicken breast. It’s more like the “parts is parts” type of chicken. A big nugget made out of whatever they squeegee off of the floor. Okay, I made that last part up but it’s probably close to the truth. It’s no more a full breast of chicken than a Whopper is a burger from a singular cow.

Yig.

I recently watched the new documentary, “Forks over Knives”.

It’s funny that my viewing of this movie coincided with my chicken tube experience.  I’m reconsidering once again, my daily diet.  It’s been two weeks and I’ve not ingested meat of any kind.  It’s not going very well.  I’m hungry a lot and cranky to boot.  I need to find a balance of whole grains, veggies and pasta.

Fast food now completely grosses me out.  ALL OF IT.  It’s becoming inconvenient to be so self-righteous about my diet.

Remember Rocketman?  He was a vegetarian and I thought I did pretty well to accomodate his culinary needs but going it alone and full-time if a bit of a different matter.  I’ve done veggie burgers.  Quorn products.  Fruits and veggies and a lot of tofu.  I have always liked tofu, I just need to find out how to cook it properly at home.  It always ends up all soggy and shattered.

So, dear readers…any suggestions?   I’m doing the soy milk thing.  It’s okay but I miss my 2% regular stuff.  I’m eating trail mix and Indian food and have even tried a Burger King veggie burger.   I’m just not in the groove, however.  I need more tips, suggestions and recipes.

The vegetarian thing doesn’t really spark from a PETA standpoint, it’s more like a health issue.  The chemicals, the hormones, the general grossness of it all has led to this attempt.  Now let’s be clear, I’m not interested in that Vegan craziness but I really do want to change my eating habits for the better.  A plant based diet makes sense to me but I’m finding it more difficult that I thought.

Thank God vodka is vegetarian.   Wish me luck on once again trying to reinvent myself.

Breakdown at the Bank


All I had to do was go to the bank.

That’s all. Go to the bank and open a joint savings account.
So I went.
I plopped down on the little couch area outside of the bank executives and waited. As I gazed around the bank I critiqued outfits and made observations. It was starting to snow outside. There was another lady ahead of me and we started up a conversation. We chatted about how it must be so difficult for older folks to keep up with all the technological changes these days, especially in the banking industry. All of the bank executives were busy handling elderly customers and I could see the frustration and compassion in their eyes. I couldn’t overhear much of their conversations, only random snippets. One lady was trying to explain “paperless” online statements to a couple. Another was softly telling a gentleman that he needed to bring in a death certificate in order for her to finish processing his request. This got my attention.
I glanced over my chair and into the clear plexiglass cube in which they were seated.
His back was facing me, but I could see he was wearing a navy fleece vest atop a flannel plaid shirt. He had on a hat that some call a “newsboy”, but what my Father called his “go to hell” hat. His short white hair peeked out from beneath. I couldn’t turn away. I strained to hear more of their conversation, but couldn’t.
I found myself somewhat obsessed with this gentleman. My eyes bored holes into the back of his head as I silently chanted, “turn around, turn around, just turn around and look at me“.
He rose to leave. He shook the hand of the bank executive. He then bent over to retrieve his cane and turned. He faced me.
I knew his wrinkled face and his vibrant blue eyes. I knew the gentle stoop of his walk.
I knew his rimless eyeglasses and the rumpled look of his flannel shirt. I knew his bemused smile as he gazed upon me.
It was my Daddy.
But it wasn’t.
I burst into tears. IN PUBLIC. Uncontrollable emotion lurched from me and it wasn’t pretty. I felt like I’d been hit with a baseball bat square in the stomach. What for a moment seemed like a unlikely sweet reunion became a silly delusional hallucination.
He was just a little old man in a bank and I somehow left leave of my senses and *thought* I had run into my deceased Father. Oops.
I ran from the bank into the sanctity of my Jeep. I thought I was going to hyperventilate. I watched my “Daddy” slowly shuffle to his car and drive away. I had actually beat him out of the bank in my full-on freak out. I got myself under control fairly quickly, yet it was so unexpected. So raw. So weird.
It was unexpected and weird because if I’m going to run into my dead Father, surely it will be in bar somewhere.
It was raw because after almost 3.5 years, I still can’t believe how much I miss him.
Does it ever go away?
I hope not.

A Love Letter

Joseph R. O’Donnell (5/7/22 – 8/9/2007)

August 9, 2010

Hey there!
How the hell are you? It’s been awhile since we’ve been able to talk. So much has happened in the last three years, I don’t really know where to start. Remember that boy I dated in college that you liked? More accurately, do you remember the ONLY boy that I dated that you ever liked? Do you? His name was Johnny and you thought he was a good kid. You liked his handshake and that he took off his hat when he was inside our house. Well, you won’t believe this, but I married him. Yessir, it only took 20 years but through colossal circumstances, we reunited and whattya know, I’m married! At 40, I know you thought it would never happen. I still remember you telling potential suitors that they have a “tiger by the tail”. Well, I may be the tiger but he can definitely handle my tail. That’s not meant to be naughty, by the way.
We’re unbelievably happy and the only way our wedding could’ve been better is if you’d been there. I moved away, you know. I rented out my little house and now I’m up in the mountains with Johnny. Well, not just with Johnny. He has two little girls!
Can you believe it? Remember how you encouraged me to have a baby? You especially wanted me to have a little girl. You even joked that if I would just have a baby, you’d raise it for me. Well, now there are two little girls in my life and you would be totally delighted. They are beautiful and funny and you’d laugh if you could see my life now. I’ve gone from martinis and sushi to Spongebob and Spaghetti O’s. I wish you could meet them, I know they’d get a kick out of you and your old gruffy self.
I was thinking about you the other day and remembering all the fun we used to have and how much I’ve missed you. Remember how we used to go out every single Wednesday night? Sometimes we’d have dinner at my place, other times we’d go drink Jack Daniel’s in a sports bar somewhere. Other times we’d go see a horror movie and I’d ALWAYS have to explain something to you because you’d frequently doze off while I sat by your side consumed with sheer terror. Every time I’d jump or scream you’d laugh. I also remember the time you smacked someone in the aisle in front of us upside their head for talking during the movie. I was mortified, but they sure as shit quit talking, didn’t they?
We both love Westerns and Ice cream. We love whiskey and Kung fu. We think each other is hilarious and we’ve always maintained that we’re such a good team. We are! We’ve had so much fun over the years, and shared SO many laughs. I sure miss that.
When you started to get sick it confused me. Things you normally would think amusing were suddenly annoying. I remember renting the movie “Jackass” which under normal circumstances you’d have found hysterical. Instead you dismissed it as “stupid”. Of course it was, but it used to be “our” kind of stupid. I remember making you dinner on one of our special Wednesday nights. I made tacos because those were always your absolute favorite. When I came out of the kitchen with your drink there was a small moat of lettuce, tomatoes and meat encircling your chair. You had salsa running down your chin and all over your shirt. You looked up at me meekly and whispered, “maybe I should just eat in the tub”. I gave you a hearty laugh, but it completely broke my heart. Suddenly, I was the grown-up.
I remember when you forgot me. I walked up to you and knelt down at your wheelchair. “Hey handsome!”, I chirped. I gazed up at your long face and I could instantly see your confusion and bewilderment. “Hey, it’s ME“, I whispered. You looked right into my eyes and shook your head as if to say, “I’m so sorry”. You knew you knew me, you just didn’t know how.
The last day we hung out was a pretty fucking cool day. Remember? I dropped in to see you and you were full of piss and vinegar. You were watching the evening news and there was some segment about George Bush on some sort of Military ship. You grabbed the remote and turned it off while simultaneously giving the President your famous one finger salute. You called me “shitbird”, the nickname you gave me years ago and hadn’t used in ages. I was so excited to see you feeling so well and *almost* back to your old self. We chatted and laughed and talked about what we would do over the upcoming weekend. We were going to go to McDonald’s for breakfast. Only because you love their lousy pancakes and sausage – barf!
Well, hell. That was the last time we got to hang out. And now it’s been three years. Three years where so much has happened and so much I’d have loved to share with you. Of course, I know you do see me and my new life. I know you’re sharing in this new experience with me and rooting me on and laughing all the while. Selfishly I just wish you were still sitting across a booth from me bitching about something…anything, really. You never were at a loss for things that pissed you off. We’d always have one more drink when we knew we shouldn’t. That would usually lead to a story that left us laughing until tears filled our eyes.
Well, tonight my eyes are filled with tears but I’m not laughing, Daddy.
I miss you so badly my heart aches and I wish I had another chance to tell you how much I love you. How much I hope that I make you proud. How I hope you forgive me for all the mistakes I’ve made. How I wish I could just give you a kiss on the top of your fuzzy old head just one more time.
Most of all I just want you to know that I’m glad I’m your kid. I’m your daughter and you’re my Dad and death cannot take that away. Your blood runs through my veins and unfortunately at times, so does your temper. I know what you would say to that.
“Piss on it. We’re allowed. We’re Irish”.
I miss you. But it’s okay, I’m allowed. I’m just an Irish girl who loves her Daddy.
Love always,
Shitbird
>

Daddy don’t you walk so fast*.

It didn’t come on slowly, as I initially had thought. It was more like a car crashing into a brick wall, but I chose not to see it.

It was 1996 and I had just moved into an apartment with my boyfriend. My parents had recently divorced and feeling sorry for my Father, I invited him over for a day of “home repairs” and bonding. My Father was quite the handyman and literally built dog houses to actual garages, from scratch. There wasn’t much he couldn’t do when it came to constructing things, or home improvement. My boyfriend then, however, could barely change a light bulb.

Anyway, the first thing on my list was to install a dimmer switch in our dining room. I handed the switch to my Dad and gave him my tool kit. He stood there caressing the package in his gnarly arthritic hands for a few minutes. He looked at the tool box and then back at me. “I don’t think I can do this, Yen”, he said softly. I immediately noticed the tone in his voice, as it was completely foreign to me. It was fear.

It was then the dance began. We were awkward partners at first, he and I. Clumsy.

After that it was sporadic at best. Sometimes he’d pay the dry cleaner and yet come home without his pants. Once he and I met Johnny Cash at a book signing where I watched him take countless photos. According to his wife, he went home and inexplicably pulled the film out like toilet paper off of a roll, exposing and ruining it simultaneously. He would call and ask me the name of our Dentist of twenty years. It was like a row of Dominos, one thing collapsing into the other.

Then, the dance began to speed up.

His sister died and he forgot. He could not tell me what I do for a living, or where I live. He couldn’t tell me where we lived before we moved to Tennessee. He thought Mr. Cooper was a dog from my childhood. He had forgotten his marriage to my Mother. A marriage of 34 years. We became better partners, he and I. I did research and went to therapy and became very, very versed in all things Alzheimer. I adjusted my expectations and we were good. I accepted our circumstances and situation and made the best of it. We were fucking Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.

And then? The dance abruptly halted. It stopped the day I realized my Daddy didn’t remember me.

You cannot take it personally. It is an insipid, horrible, gutting disease. Thankfully, he knew me last summer on the day the he actually died. He called me “shitbird”, as that was his (affectionate) childhood name for me. Funny, that.

I am participating in a charity walk tomorrow to support those who suffer from Alzheimer’s disease, directly and indirectly.

Please support your Alzheimer’s charities, even if it’s just a walk or a $5 donation.

It could happen to anyone. I should know.

*anyone remember the song of the same name? Who sang it?

In Memoriam

This day is one of reverence and remembrance. No one will ever forget where they were or what they were doing when the monstrous attacks of September 11, 2001 occurred. I am no different.

Firstly, I will always remember what a beautiful crisp clear day it was.

I had just started my job with my current company. My boss and I had flown to Baltimore the day before, for a trade show. We were out late the the previous evening, schmoozing potential clients. That morning I awoke in my hotel room and turned on the TV. A Sandra Bullock movie was on, (28 Days) so I stuck with that, enjoying real cable TV for a change, and a cigarette. I gazed out the window at the perfect weather. We were to attend the trade show that day and fly out that evening. We had no idea what the day held for us.

As I walked into the lobby to meet my boss for our free continental breakfast, I heard screaming. I couldn’t make out what the woman was saying at first, but I heard her say “world trade center” and “airplane”. I didn’t think much about it, to tell you the truth. I thought some numbnut must have crossed into the wrong airspace with his Cessna 150. I kept walking. I got to my boss’s table and joined him as he was finishing his coffee and English muffin.

“Can you believe this shit”? he said, pointing to the lobby television. The news was broadcasting the collision of American Airlines Flight 11 into the World Trade Center. “Holy crap!”, I said. “So that’s what that woman was yelling about at the front desk”. We sat in silence riveted to the screen and subsequently watched in unbeliveable horror as the United Airlines Flight 175 approached and crashed into the second tower. I remember that I thought I was going to throw up. My brain could not process what my eyes had just witnessed. This isn’t a movie. That was not the work of special effects. All of those people on that plane just died in front of me.

I can liken it to witnessing the Challenger tragedy, somewhat. First, disbelief, and then an all encompassing sadness and terror. This was a much grander scale, however, something we had never witnessed before.

Tim and I stared in disbelief at each other. There were ever-changing conflicting reports coming in right and left and we were unsure as to what our next move should be. Planes are grounded. More planes are going down. People are JUMPING out of windows. (I still to this day cannot watch that footage. It makes my blood go cold.) Buildings are collapsing. The Mayor of Baltimore made up our mind for us. They decided to evacuate the downtown area, because of the proximity to Washington, DC. I have never been evacuated from anywhere before. It made me uncomfortable and edgy. No one had any answers.

We wisely decided to keep our rental car since there were no flights going anywhere that day. It took us some time to get out of the city, as everyone else had the same inclination. Over the course of the next 13 hours, we drove home to Tennessee from Baltimore, Maryland. We listened to the radio nonstop, which was exhausting. We both tried to process what was happening. I was very lucky to be in Tim’s company. Tim is one of the calmest, most level headed persons I know. He kept me from panicking and kept me from losing my mind, certainly. He assured me almost every half hour that everything was going to be okay. He let me borrow his cellphone to call my Mom and let her know that I was alright and my way home.
I may have been in my thirties, but that day made me want my Mommy.

He pulled up to my driveway around 2am on September 12th. He told me it was okay if I was a *little* late the next morning. Seriously.

I threw my bags on my living room floor and turned on the TV.

OH. MY. GOD.

Remember, I only watched the second plane hit the towers, and then wisely we hit the road. I had not witnessed what everyone else in America had been watching all day. All the terrible images of that day. The towers collapsing. People jumping. People screaming and crying. People HOLDING HANDS and jumping. Oh, God. It was gut wrenching and I sat motionless on my couch watching the days events unfold yet again, and sobbed.

I will never forget that day. I will never, ever, forget that almost 3,000 people got up that morning just like I did today. They showered, they got dressed and some had some breakfast, perhaps. They said goodbye to their loved ones and went to work. Just like you and I do every day. And on that day, almost 3,000 people did not come home. They will never see their parents, their children, their friends or their pets ever again. One minute they were tying their shoes and brushing their teeth and 3 hours later they were hurling themselves out of a sky scraper.

I salute the dead, the survivors and the heros of that day. I was a little wishy washy at first on even posting about this topic. Hey, remember China had a huge earthquake a few months ago? What about the Tsunami? Katrina? Horrible tragic events occur and the world keeps on spinning, I realize that. But I for one won’t let this day pass without prayers and an somber acknowledgement. I have the utmost respect and humility for those who were there that day. Those who lost someone. Those who were lost. Those who still have not recovered. Those who are still waiting for someone to open the front door and just come home.

There are no words. Just prayers.

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