This morning, as I drove Grasshopper to his second day of preschool for the year, I listened to NPR with one ear, and my three year old's prattling with the other.
NPR was talking about the September 11th attacks. The three year old was talking about play-doh.
I was listening more closely to the three year old than the radio when I suddenly heard a voice I wasn't familiar with reaching through my speakers. A voice that drew me in. A voice that touched a place, deep inside of me, that I don't often allow myself to recognize. A place that didn't exist until I became a mother.
I urge you to listen to this clip, it's only a few minutes long, and so, so worth your time.
As I sat in my car at a red light and wept, I watched my beautiful, fearless little boy in the rear view mirror and wondered what it would take to allow me to sleep at night if I ever lost him.
And when I dropped him off at school, I made sure that the last thing I said to him was, "I love you."
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4 comments:
Well, I made it almost until the end until I cried.
I'm waiting till Chick isn't sitting right here to listen but it hits home. Though neither worked anywhere near NYC at the time both would have been called in if we had.
My husband was a police officer (and had just gotten off shift the morning of 9/11) and my father was a firefighter.
Both would have run in heedless of themselves in order to help others. And thank God for people like them who did just that.
I'm not sure I can listen. I have never ever felt so much love in my life-I don't even want to think of the loss those parents must feel. That's why I kiss my babies as much as I want and I always make time to stop and enjoy hugs, kisses and acts of sincere kindess that could easily be taken for granted.
Oh, how lovely. Thank you for sharing this Natasha.
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