Reflections on 9 11 and the Meaning of Home

On Sept 11, 2001, I was in a tiny mountain town in middle America. I only had my two boys, lil man was yet to come, but one was a toddler and one still an infant. The kids and I had been chased from our home due to wildfires, so we went on the road with their dad who co-owned a little two man asphalt operation that repaved grocery parking lots.

That morning I awoke and padded down the hall the gather continental breakfast items for my tribe. Armed with a tray overflowing with pancakes, cereals, muffins, oj's and milks, I made my way back to set up for breakfast.

After setting the tray down, I turned on the television for company, hoping to catch some news before the boys awoke requesting Elmo and Dora.

There was something about the world trade center. I proceeded to spread out the breakfast items, but then stopped because something registered in my brain. I cannot rec all what was said, but I stopped mid pour to focus on the television.

Seconds later, I watched a plane hit the tower, soon learning it was the second one.

Confusion and shock were the first impressions, followed soon by a drive to get things done. I was overdue with the laundry, so after cartoons and baths the kids dad and I took everything down to the laundromat. He and his partner decided not to work that day due to circumstances.

We had lunch while the clothes were drying. Eating outside, we noticed there was an eerie lack of normal noise. It seemed the whole town was toned down; all the normal street noise, honks, talking and passersby...

The visuals were of a normal Tuesday morning, however the audio was muted.

My (then) husband and his partner decided to pause their upcoming contracts. He wanted to get home to his wife and kids, who lived near New York and were freaking out. We decided to go west and stay with some family, as we couldn't go "home" to Montana due to the fires.

We packed up and left that afternoon.

I noticed noticed a number of hitchhikers who appeared to be homeless as we were leaving the area.

Driving across the country over the next two days was a surreal experience. Every restaraunt, gas station, and hotel we stopped at had the same feel of being on mute. People moved about slowly; robotically. Usually when you're on the road theres a general energetic comaraderis among the travellers- it feels good to get off the road and stretch so the energy is high. But not this trip.

The entire nation was in shock.

When you are on the road a lot, you see a fair number of hitchhikers. Generally one or two every couple hundred miles. But in the days following September 11, there were hundreds of hitchhikers on our trek west- to the place we would call "home". They had pets, carried belongings inn boxes and black plastic bags- clearly not ready for a journey but desperate to leave nonetheless.

Everyone was trying to get "home".

Everybody has a home to go to. Even wanderers, vagabonds, and "homeless" have a place they are drawn to when things go wrong. A place where they feel the most secure.

Home can be where your family is, or your "home"town you grew up in. Home can be a person whom you cherish- I used to have a person who quite literally felt like home. No matter where we were, I was comfortable and secure and felt like I was home just from being with him.

Home is where your truth is known and accepted. Home is where you can close your eyes and sleep safely and soundly. Home is the warm and comfy feeling of knowing that no matter what is going on in the outside world, you are safe and secure. You are welcome. And you belong.

You don't choose your home. You can't buy it or rent it.

Home is not where the heart is. Home is where your heart smiles in peace.