We enter a week that has a somber tone to it. This week will mark the twenty-third year since islamic terrorists attacked our country.
Last night my mother-in-law stopped over to have her IT guy, George do something with her phone. I invited her to stay for the Sunday evening cocktail and we watched “60 Minutes” together. They did an incredible show about 9/11, dedicating the episode to the FDNY. Many of the stories and videos they showed were new to me.
I had been dating Mrs Bergmann’s daughter for a year by that time. Terese was up at DePaul in a graduate program. I was down on the trading floor and Mr Bergmann was taking the train into the city.
As that horrific morning climbed into the afternoon, we had gathered at the Bergmann’s house, safe and sound.
Mr Bergmann was a labor lawyer that had worked for years with the FDNY and also the NYPD. He was pacing back and forth trying to get information from his colleagues.
Mrs Bergmann flashed into mom mode and went to the store to stock up on groceries. She also made sure we had a good meal and a stiff drink as we digested the events of the day.
I realized something for the first time in twenty-three years. Mrs Bergmann’s daughter held my hand and held me in her arms throughout that historic Tuesday.
On that early September day that brought pain to the world, I was comforted by my future in-laws and my former future wife.
Sitting there last night with my mother-in-law, I realized that if it wasn’t for her family…
… I would have been sitting alone in Oak Park or drunk in a Forest Park Tavern.
We were supposed to fly to Kansas on that Friday, September 14th. We decided to cancel that trip, even though air travel resumed by then.
I have many 9/11 stories. Most of them have been chronicled on the Chalkboard. This was the first time that I’ve written about this part of that day.
Maybe I hid it in the back of my Riddell helmet, but a Sunday cocktail with someone who was with me on Tuesday, September 11th in 2001, triggered the memories. The only good memory from that day was the support that I received from my old girlfriend and her family.
We are in this world together and our time is fragile. I spend time with the Shepkids grandmother even though her daughter thinks I’m a jagoff.
Sometimes I think Norman Lear scripts out my life for me. I really do have that Archie Bunker, James Evans and George Jefferson vibe going on.
My Oldman often said, “the sooner your family figures out that it is dysfunctional, the sooner it can move forward.”
It’s Monday already and it’s National When Pigs Fly Day. A day that reminds us that sometimes impossible things can happen.
Be astonished
