Today was one of those days that may have been three rolled up into one. It seemed to be pretty light and then it became intensely meaningful.
I started with physical therapy and my sweet and iron clawed therapist Kami attempted to relocate my first rib so it would stop it's impingement upon my thoracic nerve. Yep, I made a distinct pouty face as she dug into my chest, and then I went numb. Then I debated whether or not I should go to Southeast Asia or take the time to learn Management Communication in my "hang with the smart kids program". Kami said I should Communicate. I was leaning that way, but her rib prodding confirmed.
I talked to my two school best friends whom I miss terribly during this interminable summer break. One made me laugh as we planned our post grad trip to Cabo (there's a bet as to who is paying - but he totally is). The other asked me if she could tell her story of surviving the 9/11 towers and if I might help her share it with the world. I said yes. And after all that I made it to a spin class, wrote for a few hours, and learned we are being sued (but not really because 1st amendments should likely prevail even in the absence of actual justice).
I had a late lunch with my first boyfriend ever, a man I have always adored but as a couple we were fatally flawed. He's still a Christian virgin and I'm still me. Mismatch much? There was a contemplated ocean swim (the water was a bit too rough) and a conversation with a kid I used to babysit for who is now very much a grown up young man, followed by a long fabulous glass of wine or two and oysters with my would be divorce attorney and his fun wife (had I not chosen to gracefully mediate) and we chatted about all things irrelevant.
and then nothing else mattered.
I heard the most important story anyone has ever told me. Over cheap Chinese and good red wine, my dear friend cried her way through the recounting of the worst day of her life. The sounds, the smells, the electric energy of fear, and the confusion after the calm came. Because survival is not black and white - pain is perpetual, and the obligation of the living is always misunderstood. There is no clarity. The horizon of life is not simple. Instead there is just a story of a very young woman who survived the terrorist attacks of 9/11 thanks to a fateful near car accident with a celebrity that caused her to miss her train to the towers that morning, and her mind is now a cloudy mix of grey memories, pink hope, black loss, white dust, and the need to find light and solace in the sunset of her tale.