That Tuesday, I had just dropped my youngest daughter at preschool; my oldest, a 2nd grader, and my son, a Kindergartner, were already in their respective classrooms. I was still sitting in my car at the preschool when the announcement came on the radio.
I thought at first it was a joke–a sick joke but still. I pulled out my flip phone and called my husband. A federal employee, Jay was in his office in downtown Asheville and had not heard the news. It could not be true. It was preposterous.
But, two hours later, with our three kids safe at home with us, the whole thing was becoming more real by the second. It felt like the world was ending.
Fast forward almost 19 years to March 15, 2020 and the onset of the covid pandemic. Do you remember how confusing it all was? How frightening? And in the middle of all of that, the ridiculous toilet paper shortage?
We moved our youngest home from her senior year of college. Travel restrictions kept us from seeing our oldest for 11 straight months. Visits with our parents were sterile in the extreme if they happened at all. It felt like the world was ending.
Not even three years after covid began–July 15, 2023–I got a call that seemed almost more surreal to me than 911. “Aileen, Tommy Bratton died.” My 52 year old friend and mentor (six years my junior) left this world for the next, leaving a crater of absence behind him. Tommy Bratton dead? It could not be true. It was preposterous. It felt like the world was ending.
Life has a habit of throwing us off course. In big and little ways, things that should be or always have been, are no more and never will be again. The shock of September 11, 2001, the bewilderment of the covid pandemic, or the pain of a personal tragedy can make it seem like the earth has stopped turning, or that it should.
On Wednesday, September 12, 2001, I was at work as a Weight Watcher’s leader. After a few words of respect for the difficulty of the day, I said something like, “As unthinkably horrible as all of this is, the only way I know to combat terror is with hope.” And then we had the day’s meeting, encouraging one another to achieve the goals we had set out for ourselves.
Hope changes things, doesn’t it? It’s not only the antidote to terror, it’s the way out of despair, a healing balm for invisible pain, the light in the darkness.
