Happy Birthday Sherri!
Have a great day hon. I love you.
To the Happy Couple
I was away to Vancouver, British Columbia this past weekend, to serve as best man in the wedding of my best friend Sean and his wonderful bride, Marlene.
To save some time, and money, I flew direct from Philadelphia to Seattle, and drove nearly 3 hours to Vancouver. All in all, a wonderful trip. Seattle looked fantastic at sunset. The drive up was relaxing. Vancouver was gorgeous. I had two days of perfect weather… which is nearly 50% of the annual alotment, according to the locals.
As nice as the places were, the people were even better. Marlene is from a large family. Sean is from a small family. Both families, and many friends, were there, and everyone made me feel like family. It isn’t often you meet 50+ people for the first time and immediately feel like you belong.
The ceremony was Sunday evening, in front of a gazebo, surrounded by fishponds and the setting sun. The father of the bride was very noble, escorting his daughter down the aisle. The father of the groom beamed, pride in his eyes. The mothers cried. Everyone watched, and smiled.
The bride was radiant, smiling, confident. The groom, calm all day, was suddenly nervous. His voice broke once or twice, his eyes filled up. I love that part. Reminded me of my own wedding… I could barely speak.
When the cemermony ended, we ascended to the reception. An evening of talking, dining and dancing with friends and family. A perfect end to a perfect day. I was honored to be there.
To the Happy Couple: Godspeed, and God Bless.
I Remember
I remember my pager going off during a meeting. “CALL HOME ASAP.” My wife never pages me. I left the meeting. It was a little past 9am.
I remember finding an empty office and calling home. I was in Manhattan only for the day, 52nd Street. My wife was upset. “Two planes just crashed into the World Trade Center. Are you there?” We live two hours away - she didn’t know anything about New York City, just that I was there. “I’m five miles away, hon. I’m fine.”
I remember getting off the phone after several minutes of assuring my wife I’d find out how to get home and call her back. The meeting was still in progress.
I remember wondering how I could go tell a room full of New Yorkers what had happened. I remember my relief when a moment later, the meeting room opened up and everyone poured out. Someone else had already told them.
I remember wandering down a few floors, looking for a television. I passed someone I didn’t know. “They blew up the Pentagon,” he said. My stomach turned to ice. How far would this go?
I remember talking to my wife again. I had to call someone back in my office, over a dedicated line, and get him to conference us. Long distance and cell phones were completely tied up. “I promise I’ll try to get home today,” I told her. She was trying not to be hysterical. So was I.
I remember leaving the building with four other people from my office, all visiting for the day. Someone had come up over the weekend, and had a car parked in Brooklyn. The 3:30 streets were empty. Subways, the ones that were running, were nearly empty. We walked a long time, away from the smoke. I looked over my shoulder at it so many times I lost count.
I remember riding out of Brooklyn over the Verazanno Narrows bridge several hours later. Looking back at the column of smoke, larger than belief. I will never forget that image as long as I live.
I remember arriving home. Hugging my children. Holding my wife. Calling friends and loved ones, assuring them I was home. Crying. Praying for the families of those who were lost.
On September 11, 2001, over three thousand people lost their lives. At the World Trade 2,972 people were lost. At the Pentagon, 184 people were lost. In a field in Pennsylvania, 40 people were lost. I was fortunate… I didn’t lose anyone. But I remember.