48. When There Are No Words
I was awakened on Tuesday morning, September llth, 2001, by a frantic phone call from a friend telling me to turn the television on immediately. The first thing I see is one of the World Trade Center towers with billowing smoke, not sure exactly what to make of it... then watched an airplane go crashing through the second tower. Still, not understanding or believing what I had just seen... my right hand pressed against my chest, my left hand pressed against my mouth, I tried to catch my breath. It was Peter Jennings, broadcasting the news as it just happened, who finally helped me to grasp what had just occurred.
"KEVIN! My God, where is he????" I immediately tried to phone his office in downtown Manhattan, but kept getting a busy signal each time. I then tried to dial his apartment number, but again received only a busy signal after several attempts. I closed my eyes and sat in silent prayer, trusting that he was kept safe and out of harm's way.
(My twenty-five year old son has been living in Manhattan since June of this year, finishing his fourth internship, working as an art director in an advertising agency. He is completing his two years of schooling from the Miami Ad School, graduating next week, but electing to not attend the official ceremony being held in Minneapolis.)
I returned my focus to the television... and to the countless people in the airplanes and the buildings who had just lost their lives. Faces of other New York friends kept flashing through my mind, my silent prayers continued. As I sat transfixed to the television, tears welling up in my eyes, I kept hearing Kevin's voice telling me he was okay.
The telephone rang again, one of my closest girlfriends, originally from Calutta, India, called to ask about Kevin and to also tell me that her son, Naresh, had just called her to say he was okay. He didn't quite make it into the city that morning because his bus was ordered to turn back, all bridges into Manhattan had been closed. We both breathed a deep sigh of relief.
This pattern of watching television and taking telephone calls continued all morning. Kurtis, Kevin's 21-year-old brother, wanted to know if I had heard from his bro yet. We ended our conversation with "I love you." Other relatives and friends were all concerned about Kevin. I was torn, knowing that all communication lines were probably disrupted and should be kept open only for the dire emergencies taking place, yet, intermittently, I kept trying to reach my eldest son. There were only busy signals at both telephone numbers, like me, he has no cel phone.
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