November 12, 2001

On this fateful morning, trees were naked and bereft of their bright clothing, trying desperately to warm themselves although in the middle of November it was a difficult task to accomplish. Thick brown strands of death, caretakingly decorated with white lace, lay in silent submission above bleak ground, and the occasional bitter gust stirred them. The sun laughed smugly at me in a sky rarely so blue, and I sat on a boulder akin to a block of ice, chilling me to the core, and brush surrounding me seemed to reach for the sun, for warmth with would not be provided. The bitter scent of snow to come invaded my nostrils, combining with the more warming aroma of the wood fire which warmed my home. Trees were claws reaching for me— trying to rip out a heart that was broken anyway. Uncaring of the cold, I sat on the stone, sobbing while tears froze on my cheeks, and I hugged myself, hoping for some form of comfort as my body shook with the pain that still invades my heart on the memory of that day— pain I can only relieve by ignoring it.

It was November 12, 2001. Two months and a day after September 11 was my personal taste of Hell. Fortunately, September 11 had robbed me of no one, and on this day only one dear to my heart was lost, but she meant more to me than anything ever loved before, because she was my baby sister. The beloved angel of a family wrought with pain and suffering, a beautiful, loving girl, was stolen from us, leaving us behind to pick up the pieces of our broken hearts. But my heart suffered a deeper wound, for like Sheryl Crowe once said, “The first cut is the deepest,” and with my loss that was certainly true. My heart was more than broken. It was more dead than the grass beneath my feet; the pain it felt was colder to it than the rock beneath me. So my heart curled in upon itself more tightly than an animal in hibernation and wailed to itself disconsolately of its loss, too deep to find because it was afraid of being hurt again, afraid of losing someone else so dear. Since then, it’s never come out of hiding.

Closing my eyes, trying to cease my tears, I looked at the barren treetops which shivered with cold. And it seemed to me that I saw my sister’s soul fly through them, departing from Earth to never return.