Seventeen years later, I wake up knowing that today will be a day of reflection. It is a time to remember. A time to be grateful. A time for pause.
The September of 2001 was probably the most anticipated month of my life.
Jason and I had been married for 18 months. We had already shared several milestones together. I had graduated from college and began post-graduate work. Our brothers closest to us in age, had each been married the past winter. Jason and I had been happily shocked to discover we were expecting our first child.
Having both been raised in large families, this pregnancy was the beginning of what we hoped would be our own happy, loud, fun-loving brood. It turns out, seventeen years later, I can look back and say that it was. So many of our hopes and dreams have come true.
In hindsight, I realize that my first month of parenthood, September 2001, also held a lesson for me. It opened at the height of anticipation, the events it shared gave me so much cause for doubt and concern, and we pressed forward, with a large measure of faith, because that was all we were left with, to be rewarded with hope for our future.
The birth of our first son, and really the birth of our family, held a pattern in its occurrence. Despite the dreams, hopes, classes attended, books read- nothing had prepared me for the leap of faith that mothering was. It wasn't a leap based on years of knowledge or experience- it was faithful. Faith was what remained- maybe all that remained- after September 11, 2001.
Like many expectant women, I held to the due date I was assigned. Actually, we were given three due dates: Sept. 2, Sept. 7, Sept. 11. September 11 stuck. It was the last date, and so I unknowingly assumed it was the safest to plan around. I spent months longing for this day to arrive. In excited innocence, I once sent the date to my husband at work. He saw the numbers 9-11 on the screen on his pager and hurriedly called me to make sure I was alright. That page taught me that the numbers 9-11 were not the safest numbers to place together and toss around. I cautiously referred to our due date as September 11 after that, never 9-11.
I spent the end of summer assembling furniture, practicing breathing, and piecing together a sweet layette. We were as ready as we could be at the start of the month. The 2nd came and went. The 7th passed without any change. Surely the 11th would be the day. It really was a beautiful Tuesday morning. The MidWest was just as bright and sunny as New York City was said to be. I was up early and ready to face whatever the long awaited day could possibly bring my way. Only no one had any idea what the day had in store, least of all me.
I turned on a network morning show. I had vague ideas of recording the day's headlines in the fresh and waiting baby book. Someday my child would want to know about those sunny skies. However the weather, current movies, nor price of a gallon of milk were to be what we remembered about that day.
Instead of being a participant that day, I was a spectator. I watched as confused reports were shared and the unthinkable became reality. I sat still as live video was broadcast of a second unbelievable event. I became frozen to my seat as I realized I was the audience to the unbelievable that morning. No- that would not be my day. It would be a day of observing, but not doing, for me.
I paused on September 11, 2001. My unborn son paused. It was not his day yet. My plans paused. Not by choice, but our entire world took a pause on that day.
In the following days, we had a new perspective. Our security and future were reconsidered and became more precious. Gone were the assumptions. Gone were the entitlements. Left in those places was hope and faith, maybe because that was all that remained.
That day brought to the surface so many spiritual questions. If there is a place that spirits return to after this life, what was it like that day? Does it cross roads with a place were spirits are departing to come to this earth? Was the spirit of my not-yet-born son caught up in the busyness that day? Was he able to help those who were shocked to have left the Earth behind so quickly? Did he chose to stay there a bit longer? Did he pause as well?
I imagined him witnessing all that was occurring on Earth. All the evil of that day. All the pain of those whose lives were suddenly changed. Maybe he paused just a bit. Maybe he too needed to reconsider all that he would be a part of when he began his journey on earth.
As as expectant mother, I spent tearful hours pondering my unreadiness. If anything became certain to me on that day, it was that life was uncertain. I suddenly felt glad that my son was still sheltered and safe. How long could I keep him there?
My answer came from my doctor. One week. If I hadn't delivered by the 18th, my labor would be induced. This week of waiting was not spent with me wishing each moment away. I was thoughtfully grateful for the time. It was a pensive pause. I considered many things and was left to realize that the faith I had was enough. The world was unsure, but I was still bringing a spirit into it. His challenges were yet unknown, but we would face them together.
Hindsight has taught me that the unwanted pause, caused by the horrors of September 11, 2001, and the resulting shift in my mindset was an appropriate preparation for parenthood.
There is no way to know what each day will bring. Even the days we thoughtfully prepare for. Those most anticipated days, have the greatest potential of being disrupted. The pause that follows, as we reconsider all things, can be the preparation we truly need.
My son was born, without major incident, one full week after that horrible day. On September 11, the world changed. On September 18, 2001, my world changed for the better. Despite the unknown, he joined us. Despite the unknown, I decided to mother with faith.
