Terri’s Journey

When I stepped into the waiting room, she was sitting with a blanket around her. Her head was tipped back and eyes were closed.  Radiology.  Both of us had appointments for scans.  I sat in my chair on the other side of the room. Just the two of us. Me in my oversized hospital gown. Her in sweatpants and swaddled in a blanket.  I played on my phone. Read a little. Answered some comments on Facebook. Just wasting time till my name was called.  Then I noticed something. Her turquoise tennis shoes.  I cleared my throat and she looked up. I pointed at her shoes and told her that I really liked them. This led to a conversation about shoes. And purses. And girly things.  I shared my story of wearing two different shoes at the same time. We both laughed.  I asked her name. Carol. I shared mine.  She asked what scans I was here for. I answered MRI to check for liver cancer. She made a face of sympathy. She was waiting for a CT to check on progress of...

I remember that day. It doesn’t feel like there’s been twenty years between now and then. The feelings are just a visceral today as they were on that day.  I remember getting a phone call from our son. I was still in bed asleep and the call woke me up.  “Mom,” he said, “Something horrible has happened. I think we are at war.” I remember I turned on the television in my room and watched in horror as the news reporter described the events unfolding. And even as he stood there, Tower Two began the very quick process of collapsing.  I remember the next two planes. Fear set in as I wondered with my country…is there more? Will this day end without anyone else dying in this? I remember getting ready for a meeting I was speaking at that morning. The numbness of trying to understand what I had just seen.  I remember that as I walked into the meeting hall, the tears, the silence, the blank stares of those around me. We quickly got through the meeting and hugged one another and...