We go through life hoping that as we live, it not only holds meaning for us, but that it has an impact on the lives of those around us. This post is in celebration of one such amazing life that accomplished much, very successfully, during his short time here on earth.

Larry: This song is dedicated to you.

LarryÂ’s love and enthusiasm for his life, was only exceeded by his love for family and close friends. This was followed closely by his love for his city and his country. To know Larry was to like him. To like him and be lucky enough to spend time with him was to have the wonderful opportunity to get to love him. I was one of those lucky and blessed enough to have had him in my life for a number of years. I always thought of him as an angel who walked the earth.
more...

Posted by: Michele at 12:13 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 1795 words, total size 11 kb.

Five years ago I participated in my first 10k race on Labor Day. It was also my first major practice with Tom, the running buddy assigned to me by The Achilles Track Team, whom I was to spot for. Tom was blind, and like me loved running, even though we weren't very fast. He had trained me on how to run tethered to him and also taught me how to listen to his breathing as a way to know how he was doing in a run without asking and wasting precious energy and time. Tom explained it was the best way to identify the first signs of trouble. That Labor Day, all my friends were there to cheer me on. It had been a high point for all of us, because we were all finally ready to compete in the NYC Marathon that fall.

I used that listening technique many times when running with my best friends. It really gave me insight into how they were feeling during a run. For years we had worked out together, but our running together gave us a closeness and a feel for each other that was uncanny. For the first time few words needed to be exchanged between us.

The morning after Labor Day we were all supposed to meet early at the gym to do a quick 5 mile run along the Batter Park City Waterfront that goes past the World Trade Center, but my plans changed.

When Mike called me later that morning he was on the 72nd floor of the North Tower. I had been on the phone with him for about 15 min. let him know what was going on with the South Tower when Larry called and asked me to conference him in on the call. We'd done that a thousand times on Fridays or Saturday afternoons when no one could agree on what we were doing that evening. This time it was for a different reason.

The FDNY radios were not functioning properly and it was total chaos inside the towers, so this time I was conferencing them in so they could communicate with each other. I listened silently and stood by as I'd done countless times during impromptu rescues. That day my role was once again as witness and bystander, but I was to be a messenger also. I interrupted only once to let them know the Pentagon had been hit and we all grew silent as their suspicions were now confirmed - we were under attack. Knowing they had walked into a "tinder box" they gave me messages and information for their families in the event they didn't make it out alive.

While Mike and Larry spoke, I heard their labored breathing from the strain of heavy equipment and acrid smoke getting through their masks. They continued going up the narrow smoke filled staircases in full gear, in spite of the rising temperatures and enveloping darkness. Hearing the loud creaks from the straining weight of the floors above, I began to panic. I broke in, calling out Mike's name. We'd known each other for so long that he knew what I was about to say, to ask of him.

"Don't say it, Michele. I know what you're going to ask, and you know we can't turn back now. So I clutched my cell phone, closed my eyes, and hung my head in prayer. A few times I bit down hard on my lips knowing that anything I said or any sound I made would only distract them and force them to talk and waste precious oxygen.

So instead, I listened... silently and intently, as Larry & MIke communicated with each other in quick short words. I listened as they gave commands to civilians on what to do. I listened as they reassured people that were frightened and choking on acrid smoke, that they would be fine as long they continued going down. I listened as they continued to climb through the thick dense darkness that enveloped them, and grew hotter and more difficult with each step they took. And in my silence, with my closed eyes, I had been with them as I had many times before, and was privy once again to the sounds of their breaths.

As the creaking sounds grew louder, everyone came to a standstill and their voices became quieter. I held my breath, as I listened to Mike and Larry's labored breathing. Everyone had stopped to listen to the sounds above them. Mike and Larry remained quiet even as the rumble of thunder from the upper floors began giving way. There was no panic, no screams, no frantic yells for help; there was only Mike's voice whispering a "Dear God" before the sounds of loud crashing ended in an abysmal silence that reverberates in my soul to this day.

It's taken a long time for me to break that silence. It's still not easy to write about it. And I still can't about it. But for some time now, this blog has helped me utter the first innermost sounds since that day. I remain hopeful that someday I'll be able to find my full voice again. Till that happens, these small whispers of pain will have to be the small breaths that open a closed soul to let the airy light in.

Posted by: Michele at 12:29 PM | Comments (34) | Add Comment
Post contains 894 words, total size 5 kb.