I'd forgotten that today was September 11. When I first woke up and heard the wind blowing , the rain beating against my window, I turned over and went back to sleep. It was Friday. There was nothing on my schedule but writing plus I had a late night. So I decided to take advantage of the fact that I am my own boss and do what I could have only longed to do when someone else determined my work schedule, stay under the warmth of my comforter.
I'd forgotten. For the first time in eight years I did not wake up remembering that picture perfect September New York day when it seemed the most unlikely thing in the world that tragedy would descend in just a few hours. I did not reflect on exactly where I was, far enough north of ground zero to not be in the thick of it, but close enough to see the looming clouds of smoke look as though they were about to spread and encapsulate all of Manhattan.
I suppose if I was still on that old work schedule where my alarm would blast the radio and quickly switch to Pat Kiernan on NY1, I would have been reminded. But I don't wake up like that anymore. I ease my way into the news, logging onto the Internet first to see what the headlines are before I decide if I am up to stomaching more. I'd forgotten. Something I said I would never do. Something I never wanted to do.
Even now as I write this, and a thick grey fog outside my window blurs the tops of the buildings I have to dig deeper to remember that yes, it did really happen. And then I know I did not really forget. It was just the blessing of a day that looked so opposite that caused my delay. I did not forget. I never will.