Tuesday, September 12, 2017

September 11, 2001

Sixteen years ago, Christina-Taylor's parents were unaware of the planes flying into the Towers. They were busy with her birthing.

On another plane this afternoon, I did a little mourning and a little smiling.  I imagined her Sweet Sixteen party, an event that will never happen, which made me sad and mad and resigned.  But I could see her, dressed and accessorized to the nines, her hair as shiny as her eyes, greeting her guests, making sure everyone was having a great time, delighting in being the center of all the love and attention.

Her father reminded us over and over again that Christina-Taylor would not want sadness to be her legacy.  I try, each and every day, to remember that, to focus on her laugh and her attitude and the fun we had together.  Some days it's easier than others.

Flying home from my granddaughter, another tall, inquisitive, thoughtful, delightful girl, I felt the loss of the 9 year old holding my hand and jumping for joy over the prospect of an autographed picture of herself and her Congresswoman. I wallowed in the memory.

I didn't move the story forward; her birthday will not be desecrated by talk of guns.

Instead, I remembered touring behind the scenes at the Tucson Zoo and creating flyers for her business and playing pick-up sticks.  I remembered laughing with her parents over her antics.  I tried not to cry.

It's 110 very fast miles from the airport to my house; I made a quick detour at the very end.  Just outside our neighborhood,  Christina-Taylor's park has been upgraded to include an obelisk and a monarch butterfly way station and an educational garden and a statue of CTG and her brother.
I left her a birthday card and finished my drive home, fantasizing about her by my side.  It put a big smile back on my face.

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart.  


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