Laura:
I feel this bizarre need to write to you all, to maintain constant contact, to repeatedly reassure myself that you are all OK and safe. I don't have the words to express my feelings, nor can I imagine what it must be like to be in New York right now. If I'm this shaken up, I can't begin to think what you must be feeling. My heart is breaking for you.
Even as far away as we are, this is all that anyone can talk about or think about. My students seem to be fine -- to most of them, this is something happening in a faraway place to strangers. The school psychologist has given us guidelines on how to reassure students and make them feel safe; somehow, we all feel like we're faking it to a certain extent. Still, they keep asking questions, you know, the really hard ones that only kids can ask and that adults usually make up answers to.
The teachers at my school are all zombies. We waited slowly to hear word from everyone's friends who worked in the towers -- some of the news was good, others received horrifying calls today and left school early, mourning, while the rest of us covered their classes and tried to act like everything was going to be OK. Only a few dozen people were on the flight to San Francisco, but somehow I keep hearing of people who knew the people aboard. Matt and I just stay glued to the TV, as if learning more about what is going on will help us to understand it better.
We'll be flying to New York in two weeks for the wedding, assuming that the airports get back to normal. I can't wait to see you all again in person. I can't stop thinking about you and how much you all mean to me.
| Guest: Laura | San Francisco
