It’s a monsoon out there.

I’m rocking the matching outfit today at work – calf length skirt and coordinating 3/4 sleeve top. Ditching the umbrella, I grab my I-thought-this-was-waterproof Adidas windbreaker. It’s not.

Today, as I tell my therapist how great things are in my life – full of meaningful work, organic foods – I think also of how fleeting life is. Yesterday, in my writing class, everyone talked about September 11. It was interesting to hear their perspective, people who have never set one eyelash on NYC. My siblings and I feel like NY is our backyard, familiar and non-shocking territory. I was born in Glenridge, NJ, and lived 20 minutes outside the city until I was 8 years old. I spent most of my childhood in the city parks, public pools, and stenchy streets. New York is mine.

It wasn’t just the attacks’ anniversary that made me bawl. I cried just as hard today as the monsoon came down. When someone you love dies unexpectedly, shock stuns your body and mind. Denial, I’m sure, is a friendly resident. It occurred to me this morning, that the Day After, when you wake up and realize that you weren’t dreaming and each day you’ll hope that you were, it settles. The shock and disbelief move in closer to a place called reality, a horrific reality where someone who was once your life is, all of a sudden, simply gone. The Day After – September 12, the emotion sets in. I cried for that shift. The shift in people’s lives as they went from partnered to single, parents to single parent, love to sorrow, life to memory, and disbelief to grief….But, I know that city and those streets are large enough to hold both the grief and the hope of peace.