September 12, 2001, Washington, D.C.
The planes had stopped crashing to the ground, the buildings had stopped coming down, the emergency, the urgency, the oh my God help us the sky is falling on us, had stopped for the moment. People began to move about stunned by the events of the day before. I was at work because we were told that the government would not shut down. I was in front of a computer screen but really I was somewhere else for most of September 12. I don't remember what I did all day long. On the Metro going home it was quiet, not a word, no one dared, no one could bring themselves to break the silence. I sat at home-just me and Mika. She provided me comfort until I got stuck to the television screen and didn't know how to unhook from the footage that they kept showing over and over. I had the sense that day that I was swirling around an open drain and I didn't know how to stop from being sucked down into it.
As I sat there, I remembered seeing an e-mail earlier in the day about a vigil in front of the Capitol Building. Though I had never done anything like that before, it seemed like a good idea to be around other people who felt like I did. I packed Mika in the car and we drove down to the National Mall. I could see the soft glow of light at the base of the Capitol as we approached. It was an odd experience standing in the midst of complete strangers, looking into the reflecting pool and across the way at all of the other strangers on the other side. But there was comfort in it. People were weeping and singing and hugging one another. A woman walked up to me and without saying a word she held out a red, white and blue ribbon and pinned it on my T-shirt. It was the smallest gesture but it felt like so much more. She smiled and walked away. I moved around the reflecting pool stopping periodically to listen to the songs-America the Beautiful, Amazing Grace, God Bless America. Sometimes I would sing, or just watch people be sad, consoling one another. And as alone as I was in Washington having just moved there, I felt anything but alone that night.
Mika and I walked over to the side of the reflecting pool and sat down on one of the granite steps. As people came near they reached down and patted her on the head. She remained calm and stoic, looking out over the water and periodically into the faces of those who sought comfort in her touch. It was a poignant moment-the dog that I found cowering in a shelter, so afraid of everything and everyone that she peed all over the floor when I met her, now with grace and serenity, she gave comfort to those who chose to seek it out in the wake of that horrible day.
Slowly people began to move off in a procession that ran along Pennsylvania Avenue and passed in front of the White House. As the crowd thinned, I noticed a man standing not far away from us. I remember seeing his rollerblades as he sat down. Mika who was only a few feet away, began to scoot across the steps towards him. She stretched out her golden paws and then leaned down to lick his hand. It was so uncharacteristic of her, to approach a stranger in that way. Who knew that her overture would be so life-changing-so many things were in those few days. When your dog starts slobbering on someone's hand there isn't much need for introductions. It was easy to talk to him about the fear and hopelessness I was feeling. We were there for hours and I remembered how much better I felt afterwards. I knew it was no coincidence that Darrow and I had met that day.
Over the next few weeks we got to know each other, but we also understood that our lives were headed in completely opposite directions-I had just arrived and he was off to New York in a few weeks. It didn't seem to matter though. We continued to stay in contact, seeing each other periodically. There was never any presumption that there would ever be any future for us. That was fine. I didn't occupy myself with what could be, but what was happening at that moment right in front of me. It was the first time I think I have ever experienced what we now call the flow.
For lack of a better term, it is our way of explaining what happens to the two of us-understanding how, as improbable as it was back in 2001 that we would have met and be now celebrating our seventh year together. I guess the flow is a little mixture of fate, of God's will and happenstance. It is what takes over when there is nothing more that I can do. I had met an amazing person under extraordinary circumstances and yet he was about to move away to start the next adventure of his life. I had no control over anything that had happened or was about to happen.
Over the next two months I watched things change. It seemed like anything that would have prevented us from being together, one by one they each slowly began to fall apart. The deconstruction was amazing to watch-jobs fell through, relationships deteriorated and then ended. It was as if there was design and purpose to it rather than it being random events. The flow brought us together and we are certain it is the reason that Ty came to live with us.
None of what has happened over the last eleven months has been chance-not the timing of our foster care certification or the other foster care placement that fell through. It is no accident that Ty's original case worker handled us with such care and compassion over those first few months when we were new parents. And as painful as it might be if he is to leave us, we absolutely believe that the reason we fit so well together as a family was no coincidence. We are here because he needed us to be-whether that is for a year or a lifetime. He was meant to be our son at this time. It's because of some plan somewhere that said this little boy will be loved desperately by these two grown men because that is what he needs to survive. As new age-y and silly as it may sound, it is because of the flow.
--J
