Not for the weak of heart

Last night I read two emails that I kept from September 11th.

One from an ex-boyfriend is now living in New York, who quit his bike messenger job a few days before the planes hit the very buildings that he delivered to day after day. The days following when false calls were being made that there were bombs still in the city. Tales of a city crippled with grief that was as thick as the asbetos south of 14th street.

Two an email from a friend of a friend who was diverted to Canada from Newark on his way home to Los Angeles. The passengers passed around the only 8 cell phones with enough battery to call loved ones to say that they were okay. They ended up there for 3 days and celebrated a fellow passengers birthday there in a church's lunch room where they also slept. He said that the Canadians were so nice to all of them, he said that he was going to send the church a donation check for Christmas and I wonder five years later if he ever did.

On my personal email account I kept a folder for all of my emails from that day and the days following the event from friends, family, friends of friends, etc. I don't know why.

I am lucky enough to remember a time when traveling was not scary, when your loved ones could meet you at the gate and hug you and kiss you goodbye. My kids and their kids will never know what that is like.

I will probably sleep through the five year anniversary as it will come at 6:15 a.m. my time. I have no interest in watching t.v. tomorrow at all.