I was at Safeway earlier tonight and as I stood in line at the checkout, the lady in front of me asked "Aren't you sick of all this September 11th crap?"


WOW.

My first instinct was to punch her in the mouth but instead I just took a deep breath and silently counted to ten. As I exhaled, my left hand went to my right wrist and I pulled down the stainless steel 9/11 NYPD Memorial bracelet. I slipped it off my arm and rubbed it as if trying to draw strength from it. I knew I was going to need it if I was going to speak without my voice cracking.

"I mean, honestly, it's been ten years...let it go already. Stop beating a dead horse..." she droned on about the news coverage of the upcoming memorials planned for next week. "Seriously...we're on the west coast. What the hell do we have to do with it?"

Suddenly a strong firm voice replied "I'll tell you what we have to do with it, lady. Or rather what I have to do with it. Number 1 - I am an American. Number 2 - I lost someone that day. Number 3 - the day we forget about what happened that day is the day it's bound to happen again. Look I'm all for free speech and I believe everyone is entitled to their own opinion...but I don't understand. I don't understand how you can ask that question without considering whether or not anyone has any personal ties to 9/11. Well I happen to have a personal interest in September 11 - my friend Nicole was on United Flight 93. So I'll be damned if I just let it go or forget what happened that day. You should be ashamed of yourself for being such an asshole."

It was then that I realized the voice that spoke those words was my very own. My two hands were balled up in fists and in one of them was my bracelet. I shoved it towards her. You could've heard a pin drop...the customers at the surrounding registers were staring at me wide-eyed. I squared my shoulders and asked her to please read the inscription.

She took the bracelet and held it gingerly. In a shaky voice, she read "The first line says: NYPD - 23 - WTC." She cleared her throat and continued "The bottom line says: 9 - 11 - 01." She gave it back to me and whispered "Sorry...I had no idea."

An older gentleman behind me asked where I got the bracelet and if he could see it. I handed it to him and he asked what the 23 meant. I explained that Bernard Kerik gave me the bracelet. At the time of the attacks, Mr. Kerik had been the Police Commissioner. He had lost 23 members of his security detail that day.

I don't remember much more about the rest of the night as I've been in a daze. It's almost 10 years. That's a long time to reflect...most of the time it seems like yesterday while other times it feels like it was a million years ago.

I'm sure I'll write again sometime in the next week. For now, I am exhausted. I forgot how out-of-whack and tired I get around this time of year.


I miss you, Nicole Miller. I really do.

Familiar places...

I was driving with Jessica and Auntie Mary a couple of months ago. We had to drop off some documents at West Valley Community Services. As I walked out of the building, I immediately felt a sense of deja vu. I got into the car and we drove out of the parking lot. I started to feel anxious and I could not for the life of me understand why.

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks when we're sitting at the light waiting to turn why I'm suddenly feeling so anxious and overwhelmed...why I was felt as if I was about to vomit...why I suddenly had tears in my eyes and why I felt like my head was going to explode. I looked to the left and saw a fire station. Erik built it over 10 years ago. He used to bring me work with him. Then after work, we'd go across the street to Chili's for cocktails and dinner. This was where I first met Nicole Miller and it is also the last place I saw her before September 11, 2001.

For the past few months, I have been thinking about Nicole and what kind of person she was. And all I really know is that she was probably, hands down, the only person I have ever met in my life that had such a presence. This might sound lame but when she walked into a room, it lit up. She had an aura about her that was so positive and bubbly it naturally rubbed off on everyone she came in contact with. She was the kind of person that was always happy; therefore she wanted those around her to be too. She was, as I once told my therapist, "sparkly...like a holiday."

Nicole was beautiful and happy and always had a smile for everyone. She was kind and compassionate and somehow seeing her always made the darkest day seem bright. Erik and I could be fighting like crazy yet when we'd walk into Chili's and I'd see her, she made everything feel like it was all going to be okay. I miss that so much. And, to be honest, I could really use that right about now.

In a couple of months, it was be 10 years since I last saw Nicole in the parking lot of Chili's. This year, on September 11th, it will have been ten years since I've heard her laughter...3,555 days since she flashed her movie star smile at me...85, 320 hours since I felt the warmth of her embrace...5,119,200 minutes since that beautiful light was extinguished...307,152,000 seconds that I've missed her. 

There hasn't been a day since September 14, 2001, in which I haven't thought about her. Some days, though, I just miss her so much it hurts. Today is one of those days. I could really use that sparkly like a holiday cheer right about now.

I take comfort knowing I will see you again, my friend. I love you. Until then...Rest in Peace, sweet Nicole.  

Three days in September...

There are three days in September that I keep tucked away. Three days extra with someone that was taken from me. I wish I could get them back though I don't know what difference those three days would make in the long run.


On September 11th, 2001, at 8:45 a.m., the first of two airlines struck the World Trade Center in New York, in the first of a series of coordinated terrorist attacks on the United States. At 9:03, a second plane crashed into a second World Trade Center tower, and exploded. Hundreds of New York City and Port Authority rescue personnel rushed to the scene.

At 9:43 a.m., a third passenger plane crashed into the Pentagon.

At 10:03 a.m., a fourth passenger jet crashed in western Pennsylvania.

At 10:05, the south tower of the World Trade Center collapses, plummeting into the streets below. A massive cloud of dust and debris forms and slowly drifts away from the building.

At 10:28, The World Trade Center's north tower collapses from the top down, releasing a tremendous cloud of debris and smoke.

Over the course of the next three days, I watched in horror with the rest of the world. The images I saw would forever be seared into my memory. I watched as one Missing Person poster turned into five turned into a hundred then into thousands. I watched people wander through the dust and debris looking for their loved ones. I recall feeling like I needed to do something. But not knowing what to do. On the third day, September 14, 2001, my world forever changed.


That was the day I found out someone I knew was one of the innocent victims lost on September 11. That was one of those three days in September that I lost and can never get back again. Three days that I was in suspended animation...where everything was surreal...and Nicole was still very much alive.

I sometimes try to go back to those three days and wonder if I even thought about her. I did not know she was on vacation with Ryan. I did not know she wasn't in California. Though I am almost certain I didn't think of her until John came and broke the news to me on the 14th, I still go back to those three days often. Because for 72 hours, she was still alive as far as I was concerned. That gives me 3 more days with her. At least when I miss her I can pretend it does. And that's all I really want...just a little more time with her.

Justice for Nicole

I thought I would find some sort of comfort when this day came. That I would feel some sort of relief when the person responsible for Nicole's death, as well as the deaths of almost 3,000 others, on September 11 was brought to justice. Now that this day has arrived, I feel like I have been waiting in vain.


I don't feel comforted by his death. The empty feeling in my chest is still there. It hasn't diminished in size; in fact, it might even be a little bigger. Or maybe it just feels that way because the scab has been ripped off the wound once again...and it hurts just as much (maybe even a little more) than it did almost 10 years ago. At least I think it does.

In the first three days after September 11, the events of that Tuesday morning were surreal to me. I remember thinking Good thing I live on the west coast...this couldn't possibly affect me in the slightest... I had 72 hours to watch it like millions of others, as if I was watching a movie, totally and completely unaffected by all of it. Then came September 14. That was the day my life changed. That was the day I learned that Nicole was a passenger on United Flight 93. That day my life changed forever and it will never be the same. I have Osama bin Laden to thank for it.

Tonight, at around 8:45 pm, I received an instant message from a fb friend named Grant. He said "Did you hear?" Then a few seconds later "Bin Laden is dead...they got him...turn on CNN." Today is May 1, 2011. It is almost ten years later.

Though I have waited for this day for a long time. I had thought I would find some comfort in his capture. I had thought I'd feel some sort of relief by his death. I had thought that when this day came I'd be jumping for joy. But the truth of the matter is I'm not dancing in the streets and I've felt nothing except anxious. Anxious because they aren't going to go away quietly and I'd bet a million dollars that they're already grooming someone to take his place. As much as I hate to say it, I'm anxious because I am anticipating their next move.

Am I glad he was found? Yes. Am I happy he's dead? Not really. I'd rather he'd been taken alive. Am I going to cheer in the streets and dance around because he is dead? No. Some people have asked me "Why not?" If I did, then I'd be no different than the Palestinians danced in the street and passed out candy after the 9/11 attacks. I am better than that...most of the time, that is. I won't lie; there have been many times since 9/11 that I wished OBL to be drawn and quartered. Or something equally as gruesome and painful. But try as I might to hate the way he hated, I can't. The closest I can get to that is the part of me that is happy he is no longer breathing. This is the same part of me that thinks the world is a better place because he is no longer a part of it. Do I think the world is a safer place now that he's gone? No. What scares me the most is that it seems to me that a lot of Americans think his death means GAME OVER. And it's not. Not by a long shot.

I've come to the conclusion that maybe this is why this day hasn't brought me any comfort or any relief. Nothing really has changed. The death of Osama bin Laden will not bring any of the nearly 3,000 people back that were killed that day. My beautiful friend, Nicole Miller, will never again walk into a room and make everything seem okay with her million dollar smile. I will never hear her laughter again...never hear that sound again in this lifetime.

NICOLE C. MILLER
Sunrise
March 4, 1980
Sunset
September 11, 2001


People say that time heals all wounds. Once again, I say they are full of shit. It's been almost a decade and time hasn't healed a damn thing. And neither has the death of OBL. I don't think I'll ever find any relief and I have the sinking suspicion that it is because I don't ever think anything will ever bring justice as far as Nicole and 9/11 are concerned.

At least not for me.

goodbye my friend...

Steven Anthony Lavelle

Sunrise

December 24, 1968

Sunset

April 10, 2011

You can shed tears that he is gone,

Or you can smile because he lived,

You can close your eyes and pray that he will come back,

Or you can open your eyes and see all that he has left.

Your heart can be empty because you can't see him

Or you can be full of the love that you shared,

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,

Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember him and only that he is gone

Or you can cherish his memory and let it live on,

You can cry and close your mind,

Be empty and turn your back,

Or you can do what he would want:

Smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

I found this...

I found this when I was going through files on my 'puter:

It seems to me that I’ve had to deal with death a lot in the last month or two. First with September 11 and Nicole…then a couple of days later when Uncle Nick passed away…I received an e-mail in October from someone that wanted to talk to me about Nicole for a project he’s doing on the passengers of Flight 93. Then yesterday I get a text from Wade that Barry, his dad, passed away on his (Wade’s) birthday, November 1.

If I say that I’m tired of thinking about death and losing people, that wouldn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what I’m going through right now. I guess I’d forgotten how much it hurts when you first learn someone you care about has died.

As I sit here typing, this is the first time I’ve had to process that fact that Barry has died. I do not know the details as I’ve not spoken to Wade yet. We’ve only exchanged texts. But it’s almost like I don’t want to talk to him because then he’ll say out loud what I already know. And as much as I knew this day was coming, maybe if Wade doesn’t say it…well maybe it’s not true.

Okay so I talked to Wade for a second. For once in 23 years, I do not know what to say to him. I tell him I'm sorry I didn't call him sooner and I tell him that I hadn't seen this beginning of his text. Then I just sit there, sniffling, and mumble something like "I can't believe I don't even know what to say."

The last time I saw Barry was over Memorial Day weekend when I went down there and stayed for a week. He looked good. We sat like we always did and talked. I loved Barry since the first time I met him when I was 18 years old. He was a character, to say the least, with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes...the same ones he passed on to his son, Wade.

I wrote that on November 5, 2010. Barry had been gone for only 4 days. It's now April 10, 2011. So it's been roughly 5 months and 9 days...161 days...3,849 hours...230,400 minutes...13,824,000 seconds.

You know I really miss Barry. I miss talking to him and his stories about when he was married to Susan and when he was young living in Mexico with his Sugar Momma. I miss the comfort of knowing that even if Wade was mad at me or I hadn't talked to the Stevers in years, I'd always have a home in Pismo Beach to go to...all I had to do was just walk around to the back patio through the iceplants, hop the fence and knock on the back door because Barry'd always let me in. Whenever I'd say goodbye to him, he'd always ask me "Where are you going?" before hugging me. And I'd answer "I've got to go home, Barry." To which he always replied "But you are home." No matter how much time had passed between us, the Stevers always made me feel at home. And I love them for that.

About 2 years ago when I was in Pismo Beach visiting, Wade and I were sitting in the garage talking about Barry. I was telling him how Barry was telling me about the little Mexican senorita he'd fallen in love when he was in his 20s and lived in Mexico with his Sugar Momma and about how much he loved to surf. Wade chuckled as he told me "You know what, Linda? If there was a way for Barry to surf and keep his cigarette lit, he'd still be out there everyday...surfing, smoking and pulling hot Mexican chicks. That's the only reason he's still not doing it...his cigarette won't stay lit."

I'm really miss you, Barry J. Stever. I really do.

"Those people"...

A couple of weeks ago, Poppa passed away. Poppa was the great-grandfather of my four youngest kids. He was Erik's grandfather. My son, Robbie, told me "Poppa died. Gramma called last night and told us." I spoke to my kids on Tuesday afternoon so "last night" was Monday, January 31, 2011. After I got off the phone with my little ones, I sent a text to my oldest son, Christian, to let him know that Poppa passed away. I didn't expect him to say much as he never really got along with any of Erik's family, but he sounded concerned. Probably because he knew I was sad. Right before we said good night, he mentioned that Rex had also passed away. For those of you who don't know, Rex was my uncle Guavi's best friend. If you'd ever been to my grandma's house and spent any time with me there, you'd more than likely know who Rex was. He was a weird looking little man. He was probably 5'3" if he was lucky and after everything he said, he'd add an "oh fuck..." He'd sit for hours in the living room of my gramma's house, chain-smoking his little heart out, perving on me and/or my friends...always trying to party or get something for nothing...he was strange but he was Guavi's friend and I'd known him my whole life. And now he was dead. Just like Poppa. Gone. I was sitting in my room when my 14 year old Cody texted me. I told him about Rex. Then I asked him if he remembered Poppa. And he replied "no i don't remember any of those people." For some reason that made me really sad. See, my kids and I spent almost 9 years with Erik and his family...Cody used to eat breakfast everyday with Grandma Sophie (Erik's grandmother/Poppa's wife). They'd eat sliced apples with peanut butter and Cody would sit while Grandma Sophie and Poppa Jeff played Pitch...yet he didn't remember "those people". I think he knew that I was sad so he tried to comfort me. Later when I thought about it, I realized that maybe he didn't remember them because it was his defense mechanism. It made me think about the last time Cody asked me about Big Erik. About 3 years ago, out of the blue he had asked me "Mom, are we ever going to get to see Big Erik again?" I remember stopping what I was doing to turn and look at him. I asked him "I'm not sure." He thought about it for a second before asking "Will I ever get to talk to him again?" I said "I don't know. Do you want to?" Cody nodded and said "I miss him, Mom. Don't you?" I wasn't sure if it was him that I missed because to be quite honest, I missed my family being all together more than anything. Cody has never said anything about Big Erik again. It really makes me sad because Erik raised Cody from the time he was 18 months old until he was 10 years old. Then...just like that *Poof!* it's like he was never there. I know I was confused after Erik and I broke up...so I can't even begin to fathom how my kids felt. Which is probably why Cody doesn't remember "those people"...and now that I think about it, it's probably easier that way.