Ghost of a Dog

She's only been gone a week, but Dad says both he and Mom have had dreams about her. And then there is the jarring realization of her not being there when you come home. And in the middle of the night, you wake up in anticipation of her wanting to go out. And when you get out of bed, you check to make sure you don't step on her. And her hair is still everywhere.

How come it still makes me cry when I think about her? The way she snored softly when they gave her the sedative. And how her little tongue stuck out. The tongue she'd used so often to lick my feet. I'm her second favorite, I always liked to say.

Miracle had her quirks. She barked and barked for seemingly no reason. Hence the nickname, Miss Barky Bark. She could be sitting next to you on the couch for hours, and then if you got up and came back she would growl at you like she'd never seen you before. She was funny like that.

And at one time or another, she bit each one of us, leaving little scars on hands and legs. No one could understand how we still kept her around after that. But we knew it was just because she got spooked and we'd try to be more careful.

She had many other nicknames too. Mirala, Boo Boo, Grumpus von Puppybottom, Monkey butt, Fluffa, Woofie, Wooba and Woobie. We were always coming up with new ones. It was almost like we loved her so much one name wasn't enough. Though she came with one that was already tough to live up to. She was rescued by firemen days after she was born when she and her brothers and sisters had been left out on a freezing cold New York sidewalk in January. The puppies piled on top of each other to keep warm and those unlucky enough to be on top died. She was saved by being on the bottom of the pile. So the firemen that found her, took her to the pound and called her Miracle.

She was a beauty, everyone who saw her said. Big and fluffy like a lion (Puffy Lion Dog), the black tongue, stout frame and temper of a Chow Chow, the floppy ears and long nose and big paws of a Golden Retriever. She was our Golden Chow. Out in public we had to warn people, she wasn't great with strangers. But when you got to know her she was really sweet. She was chicken when it was storming out, or if fireworks were being launched, or even if it was just windy. But she protected Dad, and her turf 'til the end. By then so much of her hair had fallen out, she couldn't get up the stairs like she used to, and her allergies were unrelenting. But we couldn't bear to part with her any sooner than absolutely necessary. It was the hardest thing trying to decide when her quality of life was at its low point and it was time. She still looked at you with those brown eyes (one of them as ever overcome by eye gook) and her tail still wagged.

But she went peacefully to sleep and now she's in doggie heaven, running and barking and licking. And maybe she'll even run into my little Tiffer up there. Wouldn't they make a pair!

Sunrise

Of course I remember where I was. Don't we all? It was a Tuesday. I was in my apartment in Provo, UT getting ready to go teach my freshman English students at BYU. I didn't often turn the TV on in the morning, but I did for some reason that day. The plane had already hit the first tower. It was just after 7:00 a.m. MST (9:00 a.m. in New York). It was one of those morning shows and at first I wasn't sure if they were showing a clip from a new movie or if this was really happening. Or if it might be a terrible accident. While I was watching, the second plane hit. There was no denying now that this was real and intentional. I sat down. In shock. What was I doing? What should I be doing? All I could do, was watch my hometown under attack. And then there was the Pentagon. And the plane that went down in Pennsylvania.

Memories are fuzzy at this point. I know I got to school for my 8:00 class. But neither me nor my students knew what to do. Should we have a lesson? Go home? The class next door had a TV so we peeked in at the news as the other class was watching transfixed. There wasn't enough room for all of us to join the other class. So we went back to our room. Did we attempt a lesson? I honestly can't recall. I'm pretty sure I let the students go early so they could get to a TV or otherwise follow events. I went next to where my creative writing class met, and our professor gathered us together and took us upstairs to the English Dept. lounge. We were watching in there when I saw the tower collapse. I think it had already happened at that point, but we were seeing it replayed as the footage would be for days and weeks to come. The president of the university cancelled classes for the rest of the day, and there was a prayer session in the Marriott Center for all the students. Speakers came up to lead us in prayer, praying for the victims as well as asking the Lord to give us strength to weather this ordeal. I think it lasted about an hour, by the time we all filed in and then out.

When I got home I called my dad. My parents had moved to Vegas by then, so he no longer worked at JFK. But I thought he might hear something, anything at the airport that would shed some light on things. Air travel would be suspended. Schools closed. Baseball games canceled. It was all news all the time on TV.

Besides my friends and ward members in Provo, I sought out my friends online. Jules was in New York, I think it was a while before we heard from her. The rest of us met on the message boards and in the chat room. I remember writing to Skip seeking some kind of comfort. We were just in the beginning of our correspondence then. But Skip's wisdom and compassion were something for me to hold on to. And I began to pour my feelings out to him. He became sort of a lifeline. I waited for his messages each day. And I continued to rely on him as my primary sounding board. It helped that he, and Jazzie and our other friends in the U.K. and Europe could see what was going on in America and expressed their horror and sympathy and also their calmness in some respects as places like London were no stranger to terrorist attacks, and they were there to say, it's bad now, but it'll get better.

Later, bomb attacks in Madrid in 2004 and in London on 7 July of 2005, and many others, showed that the danger was everywhere. Before 9/11, we hadn't seen anything like this in the U.S. But now we were aware, as our friends in other parts of the world always have been, that this could happen again, anywhere, at any time, to anyone. Security measures changed at airports and other places too. What would have been considered great inconvenience before was now a fact of life. We could never go back to the time when we always felt safe.

Yet, life had to go on. It was early December of 2001 when I first got back to New York. I went to my friend Alina's wedding, and a Starsailor concert with Jules. New York had gotten back to business. But it was still in the air, debris blowing all over the city from the big hole in the ground. Or just the psychic debris. I never went to Ground Zero. I still haven't to this day even though I've been back to New York a few times since. I went instead to stay with my friend Hina and her family. I went instead to Citi Field to see my Mets play. I went instead on a Duck Boat tour of Manhattan. And I went instead to my 20-year high school reunion.

In February of 2002, Salt Lake City welcomed the world for the Olympic Winter Games. There was more security, sure. But we got on with it, and enjoyed the achievements of athletes from countries near and far. That summer I took my first trip overseas since 9/11, to teach in Belgium and to travel around Europe and the U.K. I met more friends, and went to concerts and taught kids and just had a great time. I went back to London in 2007 with my parents and had a great time then too.

In the years since 9/11 I've finished school and taught more students. I've had relationships and changed jobs and moved house a few times. I've had worries and felt anger and seen more sadness, but some happiness too. Ten years on, everyday the sun still comes up.