The rain..today

Adina's alarm rings at 6.30 am, but I was already awake, waiting for it in my bed, quite content to be there for the moment, blanket tucked around me to ward off the morning chill.

I could see from the partly open blinds, that it was a dark, charcoal-gauze type morning, and from the open window, I could smell the rain.

As the alarm buzzed, the children practically levitated out of bed and the routine noises of clothes being gathered together, showers starting and cereal bowls clinking, began. It is still the first week of school, so they approach each day like knights, strapping on armor, helmet and silk vestments, and marching to school like it is the noblest quest. It should always be that way, shouldn't it?

By 7.30 am we were out of the house. The rain was the cold, thin, sneaky sort of rain which creeps down turned up collars and leaves pervasive dampness in its wake.

I still love the rain.

The children put their sweatshirt hoods on and we walked on to their school, where they waved goodbye and cheerily went inside.

I pulled out my ipod. Music in the rain is a phenomenon, and as the raindrops steadily fell, the music beat matched the rhythm of the falling drops rippling in puddles.
Rain, is such a blessing, and set to music, it takes on celestial dimensions.

The raindrops glazed the world like a loving potter sealing a terracotta vase. The buildings and streets, looked laundered, ready to be blow dried by dry gusts of wind. Shingles sparkled, and water pooled in high places, only to suddenly drop off awnings and down unsuspecting, vulnerable necks.

As the rain grew stilted, then steady again, I encountered small kids with umbrellas, many emblazoned with Disney princesses or superheroes. They were walking blindly into pedestrian midsections, vision obscured by the colorful eaves of their umbrellas. Bright eyes peeked out occasionally for some haphazard sort of navigation, as they were led by wet parents to school. To them, this rainy day was such an adventure.

My red sweatshirt was getting steadily darker as the rain stain spread across my shoulders, and I thought about 9/11. Eight years ago, so many people went to work, and never came home...and they have not truly built anything there yet to remember them all.

In Israel, there is this powerful memorial which is not obviously a memorial at all, until you come really close, and realize what you are truly seeing.

It is a stepladder leading up to heaven, it reaches great arms upwards, the rungs literally going higher and higher into the endless sky... On it, are soldiers in uniform, climbing up, frozen in bronze forever in time..and the rungs suddenly end. The memorial is dedicated to young soldiers killed when a suicide bomber came into their lunch hall and blew himself up.


If there was a memorial like that to the men and women who died in 9/11, they would probably be dressed in suits and ties and be holding briefcases while climbing up that heavenly ladder. They would be doing their average, everyday pilgrimage to work, for their families, those who loved them, those who they loved. They were not doing anything particularly dangerous, just doing what they had to do. They were not soldiers, they were not fighters, they were parents and lovers. They were the quiet, every day heroes.

Then there are the rescuers, the firefighters and police and others who died trying to save lives. Their monument would have to be a firetruck ladder, or they could possibly be depicted bracing the other ladder and supporting the quiet heroes as they ascend, ever immortalized as those that 'saved'. They are the quintessential heroes because they knew the risks quite completely, and still had to help.

My mom called then, "I wanted you to hear this from me, but your friend DL passed away today."
She was right, I needed to hear it from her. Right there on the street, I began to cry.
Never mind the falling rain being likened to tears, I forgot what the leaden sky was doing and ached for her, for her Mom and Dad and siblings, for her husband and most of all, for her children.

DL had been very ill for a long time, no doubt God needed to call her home, but it is still so incomprehensible to fully understand that kind of tragedy.

She was younger then me. She was just 33 in July, and she had a husband who adored her and two tiny little children who she cherished beyond belief. She was warm, and bright and funny and lovely. We used to pass notes to each other in class. I still have some of them tucked away in an envelope.
Her loss leaves a deep crevice in my heart and soul. She was a good, true and honest friend. I valued her in my life. We did not need to talk every day, but when we did, it was meaningful and ...I loved her.

Maybe the skies are weeping madly today, maybe the rain is instead a blessing, sent from those in heaven, who want to see more growth and regeneration from us on earth.
Maybe it is just autumn rain.