Finding Light Twenty-Five Years Later
Friday marked the 25th anniversary of the September 11 attacks.
If you were old enough to understand what was happening in 2001, you probably remember exactly where you were when you heard the news.
I was eight months pregnant with my daughter, Kiera. I had just taken our dog for a walk around the cul-de-sac and was still wearing pajama bottoms, a T-shirt, and slippers. When I came back inside, Regis and Kelly was playing on the television. As I watched, I saw the second plane hit the tower.
My immediate thought was, “My husband works in New York. Is he safe?”
I called him, and thankfully, he was. But then he said, “Matthew works in that building.”
Just three days earlier, we had all been together at my nephew’s christening. My cousin Matthew had told us about his job at Cantor Fitzgerald. He was only 23 years old and, almost literally, on top of the world.
With so much excitement, he told us we had to come to the World Trade Center and have a meal at Windows on the World. We were all so proud of him.
None of us could have imagined what was waiting just three days ahead - for Matthew, for our family, and for our country.
I remember getting into the car and driving to my aunt and uncle’s house. One by one, family members began to gather. It wasn’t until hours later that I realized I was still wearing my pajamas and slippers.
As we sat outside trying to come to grips with the horror of what had happened, we couldn’t help but notice how perfect the weather was. The sky was bright blue, with puffy white clouds and a cool breeze. It was the kind of beautiful day that made everything feel even more impossible.
As the days passed, we slowly came to understand that Matthew wasn’t coming home.
Kiera was born one month later. At the time, I felt as though the innocence of the world was gone. I even felt guilty for bringing a child into a world that could be so horrible.
Twenty-five years later, my mother, now 85 years old, was given the honor of reading names at the 9/11 Memorial, including the name of our cousin Matthew. Beside her every step of the way was Kiera - the baby who had been born just one month after the attacks.
During the ceremony, my mother spoke about Matthew and referred to him as a shooting star. At that very moment, a bunch of balloons drifted in front of the camera, briefly blocking our view of her. At first, we were annoyed, but when we replayed the video, we noticed that one of the balloons was shaped like a star.
Yesterday, my husband, our younger daughter, and I drove into New York City to bring my mother home. As we sat together over lunch, Kiera and my mom shared stories about their experience. What struck me most was the hope and love in their voices.
Kiera told us about a family who had been searching for their loved one’s name at the memorial but couldn’t find it. They asked Kiera for help. When they told her the name, her heart skipped a beat.
That was one of the names my mother was scheduled to read later that morning.
My husband put it best: “This feels like one of those moments that is almost too perfect to be random. Maybe it’s a coincidence, maybe it’s divine providence, but either way, it’s pretty amazing.”
They were all meant to be in that place at that exact moment. That star-shaped balloon was supposed to drift into view at that very moment.
My mother and Kiera shared other stories, too - stories of strangers stepping forward to help one another and chance encounters that felt like something more.
Their stories reminded me that there is still so much good in this world. They reminded me that there is a higher power at work, even when we cannot understand the path before us.
Yes, there are horrible people and heartbreaking circumstances. We have no idea what tomorrow, or three days from now, may bring.
But we have today.
And today, if we have an opportunity to help someone, offer kindness, or simply be present, we can make our little corner of the world a little brighter.
