She asked me today about the airplanes, the ones that crashed into the buildings. I knew what she was talking about. Those twin towers that I never paid any attention to until they weren’t there anymore. They came down before I knew she would ever be real, before her big sister was even in my tummy.
I told her that.
“It was a long time ago”
“We have security now. You know when you need to take off your shoes.”
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
I looked at her in the rear view mirror. An eight-year old going on twenty-two, home sick from school for the day. And I wondered how it could have been twelve years ago, that day that was etched on my heart. Where fear took over and squeezed it and I forced myself to push through. We all did.
And I told myself I will have a moment like this twelve years from now, where I’ll wonder how she grew up so fast. How my heart was squeezed from fear that she might leave and never come back. I pray I will push through. That we all will. And that I’ll pay attention to her before she’s not there anymore.
And that I’ll let her fly.
For five minutes on Fridays (or really late Thursday evening depending on your time zone), writers gather to write for five minutes, no editing and post. I am joining the group led by my friend Lisa-Jo Baker this week and the word is Fly. This was my five minute offering.