I'm not sure the exact order of events that followed. As with most people, I think I walked around in shock. But I know that one of the first things I did was call my Mema. I knew that she would be at home, taking care of my baby girl who was just sixteen months old. I knew that she probably saw the whole thing unfold, as she always watched "Six in the Morning." I also knew that just hearing her voice would make me feel a whole lot safer.
I always called Mema. When something bad happened, when something good happened, when absolutely nothing was happening. And she always had time to talk to me. She was the best listener in the world! My compulsion to call her was only escalated by owning a cell phone. Suddenly a boring drive down the turnpike could turn into a gab session. And it was a compulsion to call her. IS a compulsion to call her. Even now that she has been gone for three months, I still find myself picking up my phone whenever something great happens, or something bad happens, or....
But, she is gone. I can still ring her number, but everyone knows that Papa isn't really a "phone-a-friend" type. So, I find myself doing what she always told me I should do anyway: Talk to God about it. He and I have been having a lot of discussions about things that are great, things that are horrible, etc. And you know what, He's a good listener too! Maybe one day I will be able to listen like that. Maybe my grandchildren will have that compulsion to call me. I hope so.
Because that fateful day--I was no where near New York City, but I felt the pain and the fear of our entire nation. But I knew that the most important treasure--My Emily--was home with Mema, oblivious to it all. She was safe. I hung up that phone, took a deep breath, and put on my happy teacher face for my young students--the treasures of other parents.
Psalm 91:1 (NKJV)
He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
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