Where Were You?

I was sitting at home on maternity leave with an 18-day-old baby girl, both of us struggling with getting the hang of breastfeeding. For 18 days Grace and I had worked day in and day out, every couple of hours, literally around the clock to get the latch-on and sucking techniques working properly to increase and maintain my milk supply. That’s roughly 216 feedings, and I refused to give up. I’ve never worked harder at anything in my life, before or sense, than at nursing my daughter. A week into it, I went to see a lactation consultant who, after watching my attempt at nursing Grace, declared that Grace had a “disorganized suck,” (only years later would I come to realize that this disorganized suck was largely due to Grace's disorganized central nervous system) told me to nurse very often, suggested I look into craniosacral therapy, and gave me a list of herbs and methods to try to keep my milk supply up. I rented a double hospital-grade breast pump and was on my way.

On September 11, 2001, at 8:46 AM, I was on the phone with a consultant from the La Leche League of Chapel Hill. (which means, of course, she was on the phone with me, and will remember that’s what she was doing when the twin towers were hit). David kept trying to call me from work but got a busy signal. (I hate call-waiting). Finally he got through, and, shaken and out of breath, he told me to turn on the TV, that two planes had hit the World Trade Center. I did, just in time to see the second tower fall, and for the rest of the day, I sat on the couch, glued to the TV, babe in arms, shocked, confused, and sad. David spent the day e-mailing his best friend who works in Manhattan, getting play-by-play updates on what was going on. This friend, incidently, was one of the eight finalists in the 9/11 Memorial Design competition. That evening David and I talked about our mortality and commented that if we were to be attacked in our home, that night, we’d die happy because we had right there in our living room everything that really mattered to us: each other and our brand new baby girl. David slept with his switchblade on his nightstand, and I dreamt that Osama bin Laden was lurking around in our backyard.

My mom was worried that I’d feel isolated being a new mom just sitting at home watching all of the carnage and terrible news on TV. She encouraged me to get out of the house, even if it just meant taking Grace on walks around the neighborhood. I did, and the weather was just exquisite. Clear, sunny skies, warm, no humidity. In fact, I refer to perfect-weather days like those as “September 11th days,” After a two-week healing period following my C-Section delivery, I took Grace out in my sling, on Friday, September 14, for our first outing just the two of us to the prayer service held at my church, University United Methodist. I needed that communal experience to begin to process the emotional toll.

Breastfeeding continued to go better, and Grace and I got out every day, mostly to Weaver Street, the perfect place to go with a newborn in the early fall, surrounded by others who are good and want good for others. Ten days after September 11, on September 21st, David and some friends went to a show at the Cat’s Cradle, in Carrboro, the White Stripes, I think. (Or maybe it was the Strokes, or the Vines, or the Hives, who can keep them straight?) I stayed home, Grace sleeping on my chest, and watched the America: A Tribute to Heroes special, in hopes of getting to speak to Brad Pitt on the phone. Music has always been key in helping me deal with emotions, and I was touched by many of the performances, particularly U2’s rendition of "Walk On."

So life post 9/11 began to unfold. What have those five years meant to me? Cutting through the BS to find and make time for the things in life that really matter, realizing I can’t control the Bin Laden’s the Bush’s, or the Katrina’s in this world, figuring out what I can influence, and focusing my time, abilities, and desires to the best things in life (which aren’t even things), and in the face of tragedy, pain, illness, grief, frustration, confusion and extreme day to day struggles, it's worth it to me to never give up the good fight.