A Different 911 Memory

Today's buttermilk sky looks promising of a break in our heat wave. Fourteen years ago today I had a different awakening. It seemed like a usual somewhat overcast morning on Cathy Lane. I had been watching the news for an hour or so, having awakened early as usual, probably about five.  I saw the live crash of the second tower and worried about everything and everyone, including Lee's great nephew who worked about seven blocks from the trade center. (He was ok, but watched from his office window, and I think it changed him forever.) Eventually Lee came wheeling in on her walker, smiling softly as usual when she saw me.  She plunked in her red chair opposite me, watching transfixed, also. Kodi stretched out in his usual pose by her right foot. Dementia was already taking over her ability to grasp the here and now. Eventually she said, quietly, "something happened, didn't' it. " I was moved at her struggle to grasp what was going on. I think that is as much as she ever understood of the tragedy. It hit me hard. I realized, with heartache, the extent of her loss. On that day, perhaps it was for the best. But for me, it was an additional loss to grasp. A sense of aloneness swarmed over me. 
Later that day I got a call from my friend Mason who was exploring meditation by attending a Bhudist retreat at the zen center in green gulch, Marin county. Mason was near hysteria, begging us to come and fetch him, which we did. He was forced to hang out at our house for several days while arranging to get a flight home to Maine. Let's just say that inner serenity was not on his plate. I think he has regained his tranquility. I'm not sure I ever will for an integral part of me is missing, the part that shared awareness for 51 years with the joy of my life.