For those of you who don't know me, I am orginally from New Jersey and on top of going to school here in San Francisco, I nanny. I love being with kids, because it forces me to stay in the moment—something I find daunting when worrying about day to day annoyances like bills, school work or rent. These little girls have become like little sisters to me, two small bodies bursting with big personalities. Sometimes I catch myself talking to them like they're one of my friends minus the curse words and with a huge smile on my face.
So today as I drove them around in their silver Honda and listened to them laughing, I was aching inside. I couldn't get the Boston Marathon bombings out my mind. And I just wanted to tell them. To talk to someone out here about it. I wanted to tell them to hold onto these memories and cherish them. Everyday. To wake up and smile simply because they're breathing, they have a roof over their heads. They're alive.
Of course I didn't say anything. But for a moment, I envied their innocence.
In the cab ride back from work, my driver was an extremely bold and honest man, a trait I find endearing in just about anyone. He told me that work wasn't busy because of the bombings in Boston and how people in the Financial District left early to go home and be with their families. We talked about the tragedy, how horrible it is and how it makes no sense. We started to talk briefly about 911 and then he asked me something no one has ever asked me. We stopped at a stop sign and he turned around, his small, brown eyes studying my face, searching for answers I was desperately trying to find myself.
"How did it effect you?" he asked.
I stared back, unsure what to say.
"How has it effected you today? I'd like to hear it. Through younger eyes."
I paused briefly, wanting to get my wording right, and told him that at age twelve I realized I was the luckiest girl. My mom's meeting was cancelled and so she didn't board that plane. My dad went in late. And my sister's dad sat in the Pentagon in his office waiting to hear from my mom on my Dad's whereabouts. I came home to my sister crying that she was going to lose both her dad's in one day and I couldn't grasp it. I couldn't fathom what she was saying.
When we heard everyone was safe, I remember sitting upstairs in my parent's office with the radio on Z100 where no music was being played, only words that people couldn't comprehend quite yet and thinking: "I am the luckiest girl in the world."
It marked the day I began to believe that there is someone or something watching over my family and I and the day I vowed never to leave angry again. I was fighting with my Dad the morning of 911. I left without saying good bye to him. That will cease to ever happen again.
It was the day that I realized life is short and we need to live each moment to the fullest, say everything we want to say, do good deeds, make someone laugh, call up an old friend and say hello, say "I love you" every. single. day. It wasn't the only day in my life that I've been reminded of this, but it was the first.
I went on to tell my driver that I feel as though our generation feels the same way. With Columbine, 911, Hurricane Katrina, Hurricane Sandy, Newtown shooting and the list goes on, sadly, it's almost become the norm to us. It doesn't mean that we don't hurt, or cry, or get angry and search somewhere deep down for some answer as to why people are so evil. It's just that we can't quite tell you how it's effected us because well, we're still in it.
Our conversation ended with my driver turning around one last time, shaking his head and telling me that "we'll fight this. We'll fight back." He explained to me that evil never wins, and that it's the one thing hateful, evil souls do not understand. I told him I agreed, that good will always find a way to overcome any hate and evil. That love prevails no matter how hard darkness tries to demolish it. The runners who ran to the hospital to give blood for the injured or the many, amazing people who helped the victims today—they're the proof.
As the cab pulled up to my apartment, I thanked him for a great talk and wished him a lovely evening. I went inside, cried, called my Mom, told her I loved her, and prayed that God is with each and every hurting soul that was effected not only today, but by all evil. And I counted my blessings.
I thought back on what the driver had said about love and it reminded me of one of my favorite books,
Tuesdays with Morrie and a conversation that Morrie had with the author, Mitch Albom.
“Life is a series of pulls back and forth. You want to do one thing, but
you are bound to do something else. Something hurts you, yet you know
it shouldn’t. You take certain things for granted, even when you know
you should never take anything for granted.
“A tension of opposites, like a pull on a rubber band. And most of us live somewhere in the middle. “
Sounds like a wrestling match, I say.
“A wrestling match.” He laughs. “Yes, you could describe life that way.”
So which side wins, I ask? ” Which side wins?”
He smiles at me, the crinkled eyes, the crooked teeth. “Love wins. Love always wins.” - Tuesdays with Morrie
Devon
