Turning 5...

I remember sinking to my knees in the bathroom of the apartment where we were living at the time, tears coming quickly, staring at the little plus sign in the window.

I remember hearing those magical words, "You're pregnant!" and feeling both fear and joy that time.

I remember craving Orange Chicken and Pozole soup and wanting spicy foods; seemed to be the only things that settled my stomach.

I remember walking the dog and having to stop suddenly to vomit in the bushes because the morning sickness was so intense.

I remember how wonderful it felt, carrying you; feeling you kick, singing to my belly, wanting you to hurry up and get here.

I remember driving to the hospital with your Dad at 4:30 in the morning, ready for the C section that we'd scheduled.

I remember sitting there with your Dad, waiting for the surgery, trying to decide on a name for you, wondering why I was in pain.

I remember when we agreed on TY as your name and your Dad saying that we would tell people the T was for Tim and the Y was for Yvette, but really we just liked the name.

I remember walking into the operating room, telling the nurse about the pain, only to have her tell me, "You're in labor, you've actually been having contractions all this time!"

I remember hearing you cry, not too loudly and your Dad bringing you over so that I could kiss your face. Black hair, unhappy, squinting eyes, red skin.

I remember the 3 days in the hospital, not wanting to put you down, watching television, singing to you, feeding you.

I remember on the fourth day when you went limp in my arms and the nurse took your temperature and then, you were whisked upstairs for two weeks. Staph infection.

I remember coming home from the hospital without you, feeling kind of lost and very afraid; I was lying in bed, crying and praying.

I remember thinking to myself, please don't let him die in the hospital while I'm here. Please let me bring him home.

I remember going to pick you up, perfectly fine and the nurse making me sit in the wheelchair anyway, two weeks later.

I remember not minding the middle of the night feedings or the baths or the rocking you in the chair.

I remember how I blinked my eyes and you were 1 and then 3 and now, today, 5 years old.

I remember how much I wanted you and how much you've brought to our family.

I remember all of the times you've made me laugh and made me cry, already and I'm looking forward to many more.

And, in case someday you don't, I will remember all of this so that I can tell you about it then.

Happy 5th Birthday Ty Matthew Hawley and many more to come. I love you.

Ty

Happy Birthday to my littlest guy, Ty Matthew Hawley. What a blessing you've been these past 5 years! Have a wonderful day big guy...

Love,

Mommy

9/11

Dear New York City,

Ten years later, a nation remembers: your pain, your sacrifice, your devastation...

And, we will always remember.

Maybe that's all that needs to be said about today; maybe there aren't enough words or images or tears to cover the incredible tapestry of humanity that comes to mind when someone says 9/11. Maybe it's enough to simply close your eyes for a brief moment and remember, often and with a solemnity that only comes from having experienced a firsthand event that changes the very fabric of you are as a human being and who, really, a nation is.

It has all been said during this past decade; it's all been revisited in loving tributes, eulogies, articles about United Flight 93. The stories have been told and retold and today we live in a time when our military continues to be "out there," trying to maintain a foothold in an uncertain world, in a very uncertain time.

When I think of that day and today as I think about all of the people who were in New York City on that day, my heart feels heavy, my head hurts a bit and I feel a sense of despair that kind of starts in my brain and works its way down. My stomach hurts and I'm exhausted. And I wasn't there; like so many of you, I simply stared at the television, watching, waiting, hoping that it didn't happen. And then, I got dressed and went to work, people milling around, whispering beneath their daily tasks, taking every opportunity to turn on a television or a radio to find out what was happening...

When I was a kid, I had this feeling that my family, my neighborhood, my life was secure, invincible would be a better word. That's the point I guess, when you're young, you think that, most of us, if we're lucky. I went to sleep at night feeling safe and I gave little to no thought of the dangers that existed everywhere outside of my shell of world, outside of my family and my school. That feeling of security seemed to vanish on 9/11 and not just for children, for all of us. I remember some of the conversations that day and there was a sense of amazement and wonder as to how it could have happened, how could it have happened? And for maybe the first time, in my adult life as well, I no longer felt safe. I'm not naive and I'm not a fool, of course things happen and no one is 100% safe, but that feeling that I'd had since I was a child vanished the day that the World Trade Center fell and for those who were there, who lived it firsthand, who pulled bodies out from beneath rubble and who lost their family and friends and brothers and co-workers, I cannot begin to fathom the violation that they must have felt and still do. I try to multiple what I felt about a million times over and it's most likely not enough. Devastation lingers, but, maybe that is a point too.

In all of human nature, tragedy brings out the best and worst in us. I think that 9/11 showed the best of what we bring to the table when we are faced headon with the unimaginable, the wolf at the door... but it is also an example of the worst of human beings; their greed and desire for power, revenge, control. Because at our very core, we are all the same. It is merely how we choose to behave and respond that separates "us" from "them." And it was in our response, as New Yorkers, as Americans, as human beings that clearly distinguished "us" from "them." One can only aspire to be as brave, strong and respectful of human life as the firefighters who risked their lives that day; one can only hope to be as courageous and as forthright as the passengers of Flight 93 who knew that they were going to die, who, knew that they were going to die and yet who had the wherewithal to control how it would happen. Their story haunts me to this day.

Sometimes I think that it is ironic how we can come together as a nation in times of tragedy and remembrance but we cannot have a bipartisan Congress. Partisanship divides us to the point where we waste time, money, resources and our integrity even on issues and arguments that in the end, amount to nothing. The best of what we are as a nation should also come through on 9/10 and 9/12 and every other day or 9/11 becomes nothing more than another national day... If we are really going to remember and pay tribute to those who gave their lives, to those who suffered, shouldn't we do it by living their legacy? I'd like to see that kind of passion and committment to every single thing that we do as a nation. Maybe then we would see some real change.

It's hard to imagine what it must have felt like that day, in that great city, amongst the countless terrified and confused and sad people. It's hard to imagine that it could ever happen again. It's hard to imagine...

And so, we move forward and, like any tragic event, we enfold everything that came before and we take it with us, in everything that we do, in every place that we visit, in every baby that's born, in every triumph that we feel and in every day that we have together. So thank you New York, for everything that you are, for everything that you gave us and for reminding us of all that is to come...