I think this was the first morning in nine years that my immediate thoughts didn't turn to 9/11. It only took a few minutes to remember the anniversary, but every year feels further from the life I had then, and the shock of it all. Nevertheless, I did what I always do, which is to replay the day in my mind. It's almost ritualistic now: I think about the red pants and black shirt I was wearing, I think about my office, my boss telling us about the planes, I think about the phone calls and strangely and especially the bathroom where I privately broke down. I think about my colleague Meg, and how we walked home to Brooklyn, I think about my apartment which was under renovation, and lying on the mattress in our empty bedroom watching the news. I think about the restaurants, the friends we ate with, how it was all we could talk about, and the financial papers that drifted down onto our terrace.
Most of all today though I'm thinking about how so much in my life has changed--except for James as my one constant I live in a different place, I now have children and a dog and my closest friends are for the most part different people. Still, the weather is uncannily exactly the same. After I got out of bed I spied on the girls in the driveway from the bathroom window, Edie riding her bike in circles, June playing with her stuffed animal, James loading up the minivan for bulk refuse day. It almost hurt to look at them, but it made me happy too.