September 11, 2004
I raised my coffee cup in a salute to husband Willard. "I'm glad we did it."
This was the last day of a trip he and I had almost decided not to make.
About a month earlier, on Friday, August the 13th before we were to fly, then sail away on a Transatlantic cruise, an early morning accident occurred.
If I were superstitious, it might have been interpreted as a warning shot across the bow of a ship. But, bottom line, it was nothing out of the ordinary, it had just not been a smart thing to do–to walk and read Sanctuary by William Faulkner. And glory be! Before I knew what happened, I had pitched forward onto the concrete road in front of the Jackson Country Club.
Breathing deeply, I stood up and checked my body parts. Skinned knees, chipped tooth, twisted ankle, and what I thought was the worst of all, wounded pride. My foot hurt, but I had the mistaken idea that if I exercised and ignored the pain it would go away. So, in the garage at home, for every morning afterward I churned ten miles on my exercise bike. Unfortunately, the discomfort became stronger. My doctor husband insisted I have an x-ray made. The ankle was broken, and the more I exercised and put weight on it, the worse I made my condition.
So, our trip didn’t start out on the "right foot." We mostly limped along.
On the first leg of our vacation, a flight to London/Gatwick, we had an eight-hour wait in the Atlanta airport. Because Willard is a World War II veteran, we decided to stay in the military lounge, but when we got there, we were told it was being used for active duty only. Troops from overseas were coming in, and the USO was greeting them. We took a seat in a nearby restaurant with tables set up right outside the boarding area. Just as we sat down, tired servicemen and women, flying in from Iraq and carrying heavy backpacks struggled past us. Spontaneously, people at our table and several others stood. For about an hour, as these tired young soldiers, dressed in their fatigues and combat boots, passed in front of us, hands stinging, we had applauded them with everything we could.
The rest of the trip was fine; everything went as expected, and all too soon, it was almost over.
***
We had been at sea for 11 days and this was the last day of our trip.
Some bad memories don't just fly away. Willard and I were aware that three years ago today, September 11, we were on the same ship, would be in almost the same place on 9/11 this year, as we were in 2001. Oddly enough, we were also with the same boat captain.
Willard and I went to the dining room early that morning for our final breakfast aboard ship; in just a short while we would disembark in Boston. A tall, stoop-shouldered, elderly German lady, her thinning hair pulled back into a bun, asked in very broken English if she could join Willard and me at our table. We nodded, yes. My husband and I tried to talk to her, but the lady shook her head and got across to us that she had studied English as a child, but understood very little of what we said. There was no way to communicate, so the three of us ate cereal and sipped our coffee in silence.
Then, in very broken English she said, "World War II. Americans came. I was in school."
Expecting the worst, I put my cup down. The ship we were on was multinational. Most people were friendly, but a few could be openly hostile–you could smile until the bluebirds flew over Dover's white cliffs, but you wouldn't get one back. Some people, you can't wear down with nice.
"World War II. I starved," she had said. "I live because of kind, American soldiers." She broke a dark brown roll in half and spread butter over it. "They fed us. Many times." I looked up and saw tears in my husband's eyes.
Our trip had started out lamely, but there are a few consolation prizes in life. The words of an old lady who remembered the goodness of young American soldiers, several wars past, had been a welcome beginning to our day, a day that only a few years before had changed the world.
"I thank Americans." Bracing both arms on the table the lady slowly stood up and said, "I do not forget."
The morning must be awash with angels, I thought back then.
September 11, 2024
As I once again think 23 years later September 11, 2024, I am still certain that we must be awash with angels.
