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Like many New Yorkers, my phone rang off the hook on
September 11, 2001. Friends and family from throughout the
country wanted and needed to touch base and know that my
son and I were safe. What surprised me was that the most
amount of messages were from my ex-husband who is living
in Tennessee.
He left messages at my office. He left messages at my
home. He left messages on my cell phone. This from the man
who never picked up the phone to check on my health or
well-being since our divorce. Each message he left became
increasingly more and more frantic until his final message
was simply, "Please call. I want to make sure you and TJ
are safe."
Unfortunately, my ex-husband was unaware that my entire
building had gone into a lockdown security mode upon
learning the details of the terrorist acts on the World
Trade Center. As the communications coordinator, I was
immediately pressed into action to alert all our offices
nationwide to the state of events, as well as coordinate
comfort areas for the many employees who had family
members working in the towers.
I was called into my CEO's office at 8:45 and I didn't
return back to my desk until sometime after 1:00 p.m. When
I was finally able to reach my ex-husband, I was shocked
at the obvious tears in his voice. "Thank God, thank God,"
was all he could say for the first several minutes. Being
a native New Yorker, I knew my ex would have been deeply
affected emotionally by the events of September 11, but I
had no idea that simply knowing we were barely 30 miles
from Ground Zero would shake him to the core.
For the first time since our divorce, my ex listened
intently as I quietly explained how my team had first
watched in confusion and later in horror at the New York
skyline that can be seen in the distance from our office
windows. Once I had entered the CEO's office, it became
some horrific ping-pong game between watching the events
out the window, and watching the coverage on CNN.
He never interrupted, not once while I shared how many of
my co-workers had broken down sobbing at the knowledge
that family and friends were trapped in the wreckage. He
offered no complaint, no words of recrimination, as I
explained why, for the past five hours, I hadn't checked
my messages because I was seeing to the needs of people at
my company. He offered no criticism when I told him I had
just checked in with our son's school a few minutes
earlier and all was well with our son. He offered no
suggestions, no orders, no advice when I told him I would
talk to our son later about the events. When I had
finished, he simply said, "Thank you for calling me. I was
so worried. Thank God you are both okay and your family is
safe."
To understand the enormity of that statement, you need to
realize that just a few short months ago, my ex and I
could barely speak to one another without the conversation
evolving into a screaming match. We both had such extreme
views of our past and how the events of those times had
fractured our family. We both held onto such hurt and
anger for the past five years it was little wonder that we
couldn't find a common ground ever to meet on.
What began our tentative peacetime agreement was actually
the request of our ten-year-old son. While considering
vacation ideas, he asked me in July to take him to
Tennessee to see his Dad. When I began to offer my
long-standing reasons as to why this was not a good idea,
he quietly said, "You may not be ready to go Mom, but I
am." Those words stuck with me for days and finally I
realized he was right. I may never have been ready to make
that first step toward peace, nor was his father, but our
son was. He became an ambassador of peace between two very
hostile countries.
After a great deal of consideration, I realized it was
time, at least for me, to put the past to rest. I was
tired of fighting. I was tired of always being angry,
regardless of however right I knew I was. I made the
reservations and in August, we visited my ex husband and
his wife for a short visit. I am not saying it was easy,
or problem-free. There were many tense moments, but
overall, it was a tenuous beginning at peace.
The phone calls on September 11 were further proof that
some things are just bigger than holding onto anger and
pain. Some things like family and children just matter
more than who is right and who is wrong when tragedy
strikes.
I sense a difference now in my relationship these days
with my ex. We are actually having conversations when he
calls. He now asks me about my job, and listens patiently
as I express how difficult it has been to talk to the many
families and firefighters who need floral arrangements for
the funerals and memorials for those who died so
tragically. He offers compassion when I express how tired
I am from the many hours I have been working and he
quietly discusses what his company has done to assist in
the relief effort.
We talk about the friends we shared long ago, and how many
of them were affected by the tragedy. And mainly these
days, we calmly talk about how all of this has affected
not only our child, but also his stepchildren and what we
can do together to help them. Just last night we
discussed calmly ways to help our child through a
difficult problem he is struggling with, and there were no
words of blame or recrimination. Although we are not yet
at the point of "one big happy family," our lives, which
have been destroyed by pain and bitterness for the past
five years, are beginning to heal.
We are learning how, in a time of war, to come together
and offer our child a more peaceful existence. And our
child, who in a way has been akin to a refugee of a war
torn country for the past five years, seems happier,
despite the fear he has about the world around him, that
his own little world has found peace at last.
© 2001 Patricia S. Brucato
Editors Note: Pat Brucato lives and works in Nassau
County. She is a freelance writer and works full-time as
the Senior Manager of internal communications at
1-800-FLOWERS.com. She is a former member of the Village
Parenting Center of Huntington, (VPC) an affiliate of NAMC.
Pat became a member of the VPC when her son, T.J. was
nine-months old. She created that organization’s first
Working Mother’s Support Group. Her son T.J. is her pride
and joy and is now age 10, and in the fifth grade.
LIWomen.com, Pat Brucato and the National Association of
Mothers’ Centers welcomes comments. Email:
feedback@liwomen.com website:
www.mothers' center.org
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