KATHY S. 2003

Kathy is the mother of a friend of mine and a friend of my mother's—she's the definition of a family friend. Kathy's piece took my breath away. People responded in such unique ways to this project but in many ways Kathy's response is universal. Anyone who has returned to air travel since September 11th can appreciate what Kathy describes here. Also, it is particularly touching to me as I am someone Kathy has driven to and from the airport on numerous occasions.

This piece was written on September 12, 2003.
Kathy is a resident of Pittsburgh, PA.

Dear Jamie,

I just read every word of your Before Project and am overwhelmed with emotions. What you are doing is so important. It reminds me of what Grammie always told me "It's not fair to forget the good things." Your project makes me realize that sometimes we don't recognize that the "good things" ARE the "good things" till much later.

I couldn't begin to remember what I was doing on September 10th so I just went to the basement to retrieve my 2001 calendar to refresh my memory. Not much doing on the 10th, just helped with my Monday night feeding the Homeless project. Taking a glance at the whole week before the 11th, I noticed little unimportant things like oil change for the stationwagon, weeding, lunch with a friend followed by an hour of antiquing, an evening dinner theater with dear friends. Nothing unusual. But then I saw an entry that grabbed my heart.
Friday the 7th - "take Kate to airport".

Sunday the 9th - "Airport for Kate".

In no way could I have known that weekend that I had just accompanied one of my adult children to the airport terminal GATE for the last time. No more "I'll park the car while you check-in, Honey ---meet you inside." No more riding the tram together to the other terminal while eking out a few last minutes with my precious one. No more kisses and hugs and my usual last minute instructions and blessings to "Be safe" as the airline representative grabs the boarding pass. No more lingering at the window till the plane holding my loved one is out of sight. And also no more standing with great anticipation watching a plane taxi TO the gate on arrival. No more experiencing heart palpitations as I look down the "tunnel" wondering when will MY child deplane. No more riding that tram with a son or daughter who is so excited to be HOME again.

Now, since the 11th, when I give and receive quick hugs and kisses curbside with policemen admonishing me to move on, I yearn for the "before" days when life seemed to be safe and carefree. However, in the "before" days I took oil changes, weeding, and lunches with friends for granted. I called them unimportant, didn't I? More and more I'm waking to the fact that each peaceful day is important and the things I am able to do, no matter how trivial, are blessings.

I'm reminded of one of Billy Collins' poems, DAYS, which reminds us all that each day is a gift mysteriously placed in our waking hands or set upon our foreheads moments before we open our eyes!

Jamie, I know you, too, love poetry. Are you familiar with "Days"?

Each one IS a gift, no doubt,
mysteriously placed in your waking hand
or set upon your forehead
moments before you open your eyes.

Today begins cold and bright,
the ground heavy with snow
and the thick masonry of ice,
the sun glinting off the turrets of clouds.

Through the calm eye of the window
everything is in its place
but so precariously
this day might be resting somehow

on the one before it,
all the days of the past stacked high
like the impossible tower of dishes
entertainers used to build on stage.

No wonder you find yourself
perched on the top of a tall ladder
hoping to add one more.
Just another Wednesday,

you whisper,
then holding your breath,
place this cup on yesterday's saucer
without the slightest clink.

Well, there are my thoughts about my life immediately before September llth. Thank you for inspiring me to even think about it. Thank you for helping me to better appreciate my life today as I sit here simply connecting with a dear friend of twenty four years.

Love, Kathy

***
To read Kathy's thoughts from 2011, click here.