It is odd the things you think about on an anniversary such
as this. I was working with an international accounting firm in their small corporateTennessee
office. The home office was in the Twin
Towers in New York. Most of our day was spent on the phone with our colleagues
in New York. This day, eleven years ago, was no different. Talking with a young man, Chris, I did so
enjoy, I heard the screams, including his before the call went silent. Looking
around I could see the other women staring at their phones that also went
silent. The managing partner came to our
area to tell us the news and that we could all go home.
No one moved. I
gathered the twelve women who worked for me, and we sat in silence. What can
you say? Twelve women, so many miles away, yet stunned in disbelief. Quietly, I told them to remember the promise
of the rainbow. That no matter how devastating the storm, we are promised the
rainbow. Clasping my hands to my heart, I bowed to them, and whispered,
Shalom. In unison, twelve women, who
probably never had placed their hands to their hearts and bowed, did so, an in
unison, whispered, Shalom and returned to their homes. Days later one of the ladies came to me and
asked the meaning of the bow. Smiling I explained, it was a way of honoring
them, their hearts, their hope, and their fears. Her eyes filled with tears as
she said she could not remember ever being honored.
My cell phone rang, it was Chris, frantic in tears. He knew
no one else to call. His boss had just called from California and had literally
bought a car so he could drive back to New York, rentals were not available. In
shock, he asked me what he should be doing to protect the company’s assets and
records. I could hear the sirens and noise from where he stood outside. Quietly
I whispered, for him to just hold the phone so I could hear him breathe and for
him to concentrate and listen to my breath.
Together we stood, he in the mass confusion and shock in downtown New
York and I in a small Tennessee town,
doing nothing but listening to the other breathe. I interrupted the silence with an occasional whisper
of “I am here.” His breathing would
calm, then begin to race, I would whisper, his breath would calm. Finally, when
his breath seemed calm, I whispered for him to get somewhere safe, and to know
I would not leave him. Several times
during the day and days that followed, he would call, say hello, I need to
breathe. Together, for a few minutes, we
would breathe.
Odd, the things you remember. So so many memories on this
day. The world changed. Our lives
changed. But even after all these years, two constants remain unforgotten. The
power of honoring another and the quiet stillness of listening to another
breathe, drawing in their breath of pain and fear. On that day, and the days that followed, the shocked
world seemed a bit more kind. Some devastations are global. Others are
microaggressions daily endured. Just a
little over a year later, standing near the site where the towers stood, bowing
I laid the flower the woman handed me, and with a bow, asked me to leave. Standing upright, Chris and I started to
leave. He stopped, went back, picked up
the flower and offered it, and a twenty dollar bill around its stem, to an old
man who appeared obviously homeless. He
smiled at me and with a tearful wink, whispered, “Still breathing.”
With body bent and bowed, like the promised rainbow, hands
to my heart, to all on this day, Shalom, peace, salaam, and the prayer that
every day, we sit and hear the world breathing.
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