Cellular Memory.

Last night, I couldn't sleep.

I had gone to bed early on purpose.  I had also avoided sugar and caffeine, my two enemies come sleepy time.  All of my ducks were in a row for a good night's rest.  But it was no use.  I was tossing and turning and, worst of all, I felt incredibly anxious.  For the life of me I could not figure out why.  Everyone in my family was safe.  I was feeling and doing fine, overall, too.  So what was up with my nervousness?

Then I looked at the calendar and finally figured it out.

It's almost September.  More specifically, it's almost September 11, 2011.  Ten years ago that day I lost my dear friend Matty in Tower One.  He was 23 years old. 

There is something to be said for what our bodies remember before our minds do.  What our cells remember before our brains have a chance to process.  Last night, my body, on edge and restless, was experiencing some of the trauma all over again.  Ten years later, it is still remembering the loss. 


In the days following the attack, it was my friend Claire who had called to tell me that they couldn't find Matty, who worked in the towers.  Time passed and in order to, I'm sure, maintain some of their sanity, Matty's family had a prayer service for him.  I was in denial.  I didn't attend.  Surely, he would turn up.  I kept trying to convince myself that it must just be a big, horrible misunderstanding.  He must be safe, at a friend's house and unable to reach his family due to the phone outages.  Or maybe he took an unplanned vacation and he was laughing on a beach somewhere.  My mind searched for something, anything to explain how he was still here and avoid coming anywhere near the unthinkable.  But then more time passed.  And one day, they found my dear friend's remains.  A memorial service was planned.  At that point I wasn't in denial.  I was in complete and total denial.  Sadly, I didn't attend that service either.  It is still one of my deepest regrets.

Fast forward a few short years after that tragic day to August 2004.  Though I like to think I'm a good Catholic, I'm no saint: once a year I visit a psychic/medium named Sara.  She reads my tarot and I secretly laugh at what she sees for me.  But that's not the main reason for my visits.  I go mostly for the medium part.  I don't tell her anything but inevitably people from my past who have passed away come through to say hello.  My Mom has come through and though that is another story for another day, I know this individual is legit.  She's told me things--specific and incredibly personal things--that only my mother would know.  In short, I trust her.  

So I was in my reading that day in 2004, not expecting anything really.  All of a sudden Sara mentions how there was a male coming through.  I start thinking it is my Grandpa or some other older relative.  But she says, "He is really cute!  Oh, do you know who this is?  He has bright blue eyes and he is really attractive."  

 

Uh, at this point I am very intrigued but I still don't know who it is.  Definitely not Grandpa.  

 

Sara hesitates for a second, takes a breath and then continues.

 

"He doesn't want to scare you," she says.  "He has two paper airplanes and he is just making them fly in front of him, really gently.  Again, he keeps saying how he doesn't want to scare you."

 

At that point I knew.  Bright blue eyes?  Two planes?  

It was Matty.

 

She said he wanted me to know that he is ok.  And that he was so excited that I came to see Sara because he knew that none of his other friends would do something like this.  (Knowing his friends, I laughed at just how accurate he was on that).  Sara also said he was smiling the whole time and that "he had the sweetest smile on his face." 

It became apparent through my experience that Matty is in death who he was in life.  Kind, considerate and incredibly witty.  My heart stopped for a minute that day.  It still does every time I think about that encounter.  

I miss my friend.  I miss who he was and I mourn for the life he had yet to experience.  I mourn for all the lives that were lost that day but for my friend's in particular.  He was just such a good person and I was simply better for knowing him.  This coming anniversary will be incredibly difficult for anyone who lost someone they cared about.  But on that day, and every day, really, I pray that we are somehow able to not only mourn their deaths but, most importantly, celebrate their lives.  That somehow, we can enable their legacy to continue with what we do in their memory.