Steve Laube, president and founder of The Steve Laube Agency, a veteran of the bookselling industry with 40 years of experience. View all posts by Steve Laube →
How long may one a voicemail keep,
last words of love now stilled?
A voice whose owner chose to leap
to a kinder way of being killed?
How did that tie, picked with such care,
ripple in the falling gale?
Did that once finger-stroked hair
stream upwards as a comet’s tail
to make a point of exclamation,
a last silent despairing cry?
Were the eyes that won a heart’s elation
yet open as they came to die
upon the aching street below,
confetti’d by sad paper-snow?
I watched the second tower fall on TV. I had been homeschooling my then 8-year-old daughter, Mary. My dad called to tell me what was happening.
We couldn’t have the news on for about 2 weeks after that day when Mary was in the room or she’d burst into tears.
After the second tower fell, she asked me, “What if the bad men come here and drop a bomb on us?”
I answered, “What would happen if they did?”
“We’d die.”
“And what happens when we die?”
“We go to heaven to be with Jesus.”
“Is that bad?”
“No.”
“We are the Lord’s, baby girl. Whether we live or die, we belong to Jesus.”
Because the dear son of friends, a man I’d know since before he was a teenager, was on the first plane, a routine flight from Boston to LA that he took regularly, I see the planes as much as the towers. The devastation on personal levels is surmountable only with Christ,.
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How long may one a voicemail keep,
last words of love now stilled?
A voice whose owner chose to leap
to a kinder way of being killed?
How did that tie, picked with such care,
ripple in the falling gale?
Did that once finger-stroked hair
stream upwards as a comet’s tail
to make a point of exclamation,
a last silent despairing cry?
Were the eyes that won a heart’s elation
yet open as they came to die
upon the aching street below,
confetti’d by sad paper-snow?
Oh, Andrew … so hauntingly beautiful. 🙁
Pam, thank you so much. I hated the necessity of the words.
Andrew,
What a hauntingly perfect picture of that terrible day. Oh, Andrew. No words. Only tears.
Debra, I wrote this through tears.
Your words are a stunning tribute to a life/lives lost on that terrible day, in that terrible way.
Thank you, Steve. As I stood on West 38th St, watching the second tower fall, I knew that I would never forget this day.
I watched the second tower fall on TV. I had been homeschooling my then 8-year-old daughter, Mary. My dad called to tell me what was happening.
We couldn’t have the news on for about 2 weeks after that day when Mary was in the room or she’d burst into tears.
After the second tower fell, she asked me, “What if the bad men come here and drop a bomb on us?”
I answered, “What would happen if they did?”
“We’d die.”
“And what happens when we die?”
“We go to heaven to be with Jesus.”
“Is that bad?”
“No.”
“We are the Lord’s, baby girl. Whether we live or die, we belong to Jesus.”
That comforted her.
It comforted me, too.
Because the dear son of friends, a man I’d know since before he was a teenager, was on the first plane, a routine flight from Boston to LA that he took regularly, I see the planes as much as the towers. The devastation on personal levels is surmountable only with Christ,.