I wrote a reflective post last week (I think) and was not planning to post it ON September 11th here in my hood. It will go live on another blog I write for that day, but I just wanted to hold this in reserve. And then I read it just now. Today. September 8th. And I realize, I don't have that many days left before the anniversary. Before I should probably hit publish and make this go live. And I can't figure out when the best time to do it will be. The day before? It's right or wrong? Today? It's still too soon. Is that crazy? It's just too soon for me to post this a few days before the actual anniversary. And so, I wait. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not. Maybe when I'm ready.
Maybe I won't ever be ...
I'll wait until I wake up on the morning of September 11, 2011 and I'll open my eyes. Roll over and kiss my husband. Walk to my daughter's room and peek in. Or - who am I kidding? I always sleep later than everyone else on the weekends! Rewind and try again.
I'll open my eyes. Wipe the sleep out of them. And listen.
Will it be quiet? Upstairs, maybe. Will I hear them? I'll listen as I hear my daughter and husband downstairs, talking, chatting, laughing, playing. Watching TV. I'll hear the start of a brand new day. And I'll trudge downstairs, itching for some lovin'.
And I'll walk over, give my baby a squeeze and remind myself that this ... this is why we wake up and face another day. Despite the sadness and lost we will remember. Despite the emotions we feel, as we did the year before. And the year before that.
And then I'll look back into these eyes, and at this crazy hair, and burst into giggles. Or tears. Or both.
And that'll be OK. Whatever I choose.