September Promises

September had always been one of my favorite months: a time of warm blue skies and "light sweater" evenings, a time of the new school year beginnings, a time of subtle beauties as summer slowly shifts into fall - changing leaves and changing skies, scurrying animals gathering up stores for winter, final harvests in the garden, scents of woodsmoke on cool evenings, apples and pumpkins for cooking and preserving.

September is when my younger brother, Tommy, was born - and when he married.

It is also the month in which he died...which, for awhile, took away the magic of September. 

But life is cycles of change, of birth and death and rebirth. Tommy is not here...yet did he not return from whence he came? As I believe in the Resurrected Christ, I know that Tommy's passing is yet another turn in the circle of seasons, another change in the forms of Life - which know only change. I know that as Summer turns to Fall and then Winter - seasons of decay and death - that the promise of Spring - of Life and Light - stands. I know that in the darkest hour, my Saviour is with me...even when I cannot "see" Him. Even when I cannot "feel" him.

And so September is once again my favorite part of summer. And as I shed my tears of sorrow on Sept 2 (Tommy's birthday) and Sept 11, I recall the Promise of September. The Promise of Grace and Redemption.

The Promise of a sacrificial Love so great that it easily carries me and my loved ones.

I'll meet you further on down the road...

Today my younger brother, Tommy, would have turned 46. It is a day of bittersweet remembrances.

It is a day my sis-in-law and I text each other little hearts and share teary laughs.

It is a day I count my blessings - that 2 of my younger brothers are still with me and such a huge and wonderful part of my life.

It is also a day of hope - for in death, there can be hope. So I dig deep and plant those seeds.

Yesterday, a reporter noted that I seem less angry about 9/11 and Tommy's death - that I seem more at peace. She asked what had changed.

Time. 

Time, God's mercy, the love of family and friends - and LOTS of writing - have brought me past the anger.

Making a focused effort to note the beauty all around me has brought me peace - for how can I maintain rage when confronted with the clear and innocent gazes and sweet confidences of my young nieces? How can I not find some measure of solace meditating in my garden? (any garden, if I'm being honest!) How can I stay stuck in an unhealthy place when I am surrounded by the love of good people?

Happy birthday, Tommy Too! I'll see you again, down the road a bit!

Note - the photo is of a painting from the Tribute: Downtown Rising exhibition. It is a series of paintings made of the World Trade Center site over the past 10 years. The first is dated September 10, 2001.

A Visit with a Japanese Reporter

Today I brought home a Japanese journalist to meet my parents.

I met Akiko five years ago, when she was in the US interviewing 9/11 families - and we had a truly wonderful conversation. Rather than the typical newspaper interview, after answering a few questions we embarked on a wide ranging conversation that touched on grief, anger, 9/11, global politics, cultural differences re US and Japan - and so much more

This week, the paper sent Akiko back to the US to engage in "follow-up" with a few of the people she met in 2006. And this time I invited her to meet my parents in their home. We had tea and cake, and Akiko brought some delicious cookies from Japan as a gift. And over tea, we talked.

We talked of how we each have changed in the past five years - and how our family and the world at large has changed since 9/11 - for good and for ill. We discussed 9/11 and my younger brother, Tommy.

We discussed how we channeled our grief from Tommy's death into a scholarship fund and an annual golf outing. We shared our thoughts on the national memorial and on global politics.

We talked of Fukushima and the suffering Akiko has seen there.

We talked of family and friends and faith and fellowship.

It truly is a small world when people take the time and the care to reach out over distance to touch hearts.

September 11, 2010

Today we went to the WTC to remember, to mourn, to listen to speeches, to cry, to cast roses into a shallow and temporary pool, to somehow after nine years make sense of this insane experience we share with these thousands who also come to the WTC each year.


It was a good day. We cried, we laughed, we recalled silly stories and made some new ones. We broke bread with beloved friends and family. We lived. In the face of so much death, of so much grief, we lived.

Happy 45th Birthday, Tommy!

My brother Tommy would have been 45 today, had he lived.  This is a repost from last year - today my family and I are busy planning the Tommy Bowden Memorial Golf Outing, so that his memory and love live on!

Tommy, 1965

Today, September 2, is my little brother's birthday. His name is Tommy, and he was born 16 months after me, in September 1965. While I would be lying if I said I remember the very day, I do remember the time. I remember being very excited about a new baby, and many family photos taken during his first year show me as a blur, leaning over to kiss my little brother.

My dad's name is also Tom, so we called my little brother Tommy Too (yes, its a poor pun on Thomas II). I still have a card from my second birthday in May, 1966 signed "Love, Tommy Too". I loved being a big sister - I even gave up my bottle for Tommy one day when he was crying and mom was on a call from Canada :)

We played together, and we were joined in complete solidarity. When our next sibling came along, my father was foolish enough to give us a choice of gender. We requested a girl. We received a boy. We told daddy to exchange it.

Obviously he said no, and we didn't speak to him for 3 days. Rest assured, we loved Paul just as he was. When mom and dad were expecting the last baby, in 1973, dad had learned his lesson. We didn't get to choose and we adored "our" little Jimmy :)

Years went by, we went to school. We walked to school together almost every day - it was our time to talk things over before our very disparate social lives took us in different directions. These walks were where we discussed things, like the best jeans (Levis - designer jeans are stupid), how much aftershave should be applied so that a girl's eyes didn't water ( a dab, not half a bottle at once), and how much he loved the Hall & Oates cover of "You've lost that loving feeling".

We certainly had spats, and times when we didn't get along - we were teens, not saints! But all in all, we had a special bond, and we appreciated it quietly.

I remember all of these times so fondly today. Today, Tommy would have turned 44 years old. I miss him today as much as I missed him eight years ago. I miss the baby I would kiss and try to carry. I miss the mischievous toddler who climbed into the coal bin with me (against parental orders). I miss the teenager who would snap "stop calling me your little brother, I'm taller than you! Its embarrassing!" I miss the man who helped me to raise my son, who told my son he would always be there for him. I miss the man who loved his wife and daughters so joyfully and tenderly.

My faith tells me to dry my tears, that I will see my brother again, just not in this mortal life. And so I pray for my soul and his, and I send him this wish:

Happy birthday, Tommy Too!

Memories

This is a time of the year when memories take on a poignant shading: memories of Tommy, memories of 9/11. I find myself more aware of the connections between past and present, between people, between choices and results.

This morning I received an email from a lovely young women that I probably would not know if it weren't for our shared grief.

We both lost younger brothers that dark day. A connection.

Our brothers happened to be friends.  

Another connection.

Later this morning I received a call from a woman who wanted to donate an item as a prize for our memorial golf outing. She saw a poster I had created and felt a connection.

She lost a friend that day.

We sometimes think we are all alone, but life has shown me how very shared even the most painful of moments can be - if we open ourselves to the sharing. To the connections.

Sometimes I feel like I'm just barely hanging on...

Today is one of those days...

I had to head into the office extra early after a busy weekend and a sad, emotional week with a friend passing, and another friend losing a beloved sibling. And then the wee ones arrived from SC for a long visit with us.

We had a family bbq/swim day at my brother's house, where his two little ones were delirious with joy at having their cousins back "at last!".

In and among the joyful play, some serious things were discussed.

Like when Aly (almost 9) plopped into my lap for a snuggle and announced, "I got to know my daddy for 12 whole days before he died - isn't that wonderful?!".

 Or when Sara announced that she had been viewing videos of 9/11 on youtube to check on if people had been lying to her - and if daddy really did burn up or if he was just crushed by the building.

So we had a chat about the stuff that makes you want to hide your head under the blankets and scream or cry. The stuff you don't want to have to discuss with children, but that you cannot brush aside when they trust you enough to share these thoughts and feelings.

2010 Scholarship Award Speech

Hello and congratulations to the Class of 2010.

My name is Kathy Bowden, and I graduated with the class of '82. My brother, Tommy Bowden, graduated a year later, in '83. 

Tommy was the friendliest guy I have ever known:  his buddies often remind me of how every time they saw him he was laughing or joking around, of how he had a smile for everyone.

Tommy was involved in various activities during his years here: a little baseball, a few years of track, a little bit of AV club. 

He loved Bruce Springsteen and U2, and adored staying with friends at the shore all summer long.

Tommy became a man I was always proud to call my brother - a man who knew how to live his life fully without sacrificing responsibility. A man who felt it his quiet duty to help out where needed. A man who surrounded himself with his friends and his family.

Tommy married the woman he loved, and had 2 beautiful daughters - Sara, now 10 ?, and Alyson, now almost 9.

Then one day Tommy went to work and our world changed. He was working for Cantor Fitzgerald, at the World Trade Center, on September 11, 2001.

While to most of you, 9/11 is a national and historical event, to my family - and to another family here today - it is deeply personal. We lost Tommy, and we lost dear friends. Tiny little Glen Ridge lost 7 people - and 4 of them (Tommy, John Candela, Mike La Forte and Brian Bennett) went to this school.

But I don't want to dwell on Tommy's death.

Tommy firmly believed that a key part of having a successful life was choosing happiness moment to moment.

So I choose to remember Members Only jackets and barn parties, White Castle ratburgers and hot summer nights driving down the shore, Springsteen concerts and Red Sox games.

And in honor of those memories, and in honor of the love and laughter Tommy brought to our lives, I would like present this year's scholarship award to Robert Rollo.

9/11

This was originally written after the first Memorial Service at the World Trade Center in October, 2001. We have come a long way since that day - as individuals, as a family, and as a nation. Some of these changes are for the better - but not all...

The service was unbelievable - such a mix of emotions - it was very well organized for a hasty job, if you know what I mean. We drove in and went down the West Side Highway to Canal Street. As we drove down the West Side Highway, people stood on the median with homemade signs saying things like 'We will never forget' and 'Our prayers are with the families'. On Sept 12, Jimmy and I had seen similar signs while driving down this road when we were desperately looking for a living Tommy, and we felt that each sign and each flag was a prayer for us in our sad search - now we were comforted by these same signs as we realize that we will never find a living Tommy. On September 12, the signs cheered on the rescue workers. On Sunday, all signs were for the comfort of the families. On Canal Street, all available spaces (fences, store fronts, etc) have signs memorializing victims or cheering on rescue workers. Fences are covered with signs, balloons, flowers and photographs. I have avoided going downtown since the middle of September, as I could not handle being in Tribeca and seeing this stuff every day! It does warm the heart, tho, to see all the love and caring...

Jimmy, Matt and I were standing on Dey Street (seats were gone by noon - we gave our seats and our face masks to an older woman with small children) - we were immediately facing the podium on the stage - we had an excellent view - and also had the big screens to watch, since they showed views of the pit that we could not go to. It was freezing cold, but the Red Cross had coffee, tea and hot cocoa for all – and even started passing cups around towards the end. The service was beautiful: Ave Maria - Amazing Grace - an Andrew Lloyd Webber song (Live in Peace??) that got EVERYONE crying - and God Bless America was unbelievable - we all started singing thru the tears, there was a real feeling of strength and solidarity in that song. But it was all over too soon - and they let us out to Bach (Air on a G String), which opened the floodgates. People who were otherwise alright – maybe teary-eyed but still standing strong - suddenly were sobbing openly and walking with that sickly hunched over walk that we all seem to have when the burden feels too heavy. At that point, several families shouted out their goodbyes 'Goodbye Harry, we love you!' and so on. The press photographers, who started the day ok and became visibly upset as the memorial progressed, started openly weeping at the spectacle of families screaming their final goodbyes to an unimaginably huge pile of smoking concrete and twisted steel.

I can't even write this now without crying and feeling that sick pain all over again. As for Matt, I think this helped him to accept that there is no chance for Tommy to come back. Up until we arrived at Ground Zero he still thought they would find Tommy alive in an air pocket - tired, weak, hurt and hungry - but alive. He is now coming to grips with his loss.

What is truly important

Life has shown me time and again that family, friends and faith are my keystones.

To all those who have loved and supported me and my family through difficult times, I say a heartfelt "Thank you!"

Remembering

Today, September 2, is my little brother's birthday. His name is Tommy, and he was born 16 months after me, in September 1965.

While I would be lying if I said I remember the very day, I do remember the time. I remember being very excited about a new baby, and many family photos taken during his first year show me as a blur, leaning over to kiss my little brother.

My dad's name is also Tom, so we called my little brother Tommy Too (yes, its a poor pun on Thomas II). I still have a card from my second birthday in May, 1966 signed "Love, Tommy Too". I loved being a big sister - I even gave up my bottle for Tommy one day when he was crying and mom was on a call from Canada :)
We played together, and we were joined in complete solidarity. When our next sibling came along, my father was foolish enough to give us a choice of gender. We requested a girl. We received a boy. We told daddy to exchange it.

Obviously he said no, and we didn't speak to him for 3 days. Rest assured, we loved Paul just as he was. When mom and dad were expecting the last baby, in 1973, dad had learned his lesson. We didn't get to choose and we adored "our" little Jimmy!

Years went by, we went to school. We walked to school together almost every day - it was our time to talk things over before our very disparate social lives took us in different directions. These walks were where we discussed things, like the best jeans (Levis - designer jeans are stupid), how much aftershave should be applied so that a girl's eyes didn't water ( a dab, not half a bottle at once), and how much he loved the Hall & Oates cover of "You've lost that loving feeling".

We certainly had spats, and times when we didn't get along - we were teens, not saints! But all in all, we had a special bond, and we appreciated it quietly.

I remember all of these times so fondly today.

Today, Tommy would have turned 44 years old.

I miss him today as much as I missed him eight years ago.

I miss the baby I would kiss and try to carry.

I miss the mischievous toddler who climbed into the Edgerly & Gilson commercial coal bin with me (against strict parental orders to stay out of that lot).

I miss the teenager who would snap "stop calling me your little brother, I'm taller than you! Its embarrassing!"

I miss the man who helped me to raise my son, who told my son he would always be there for him.

I miss the man who loved his wife and daughters so joyfully and tenderly.

My faith tells me to dry my tears, that I will see my brother again, just not in this mortal life. And so I pray for my soul and his, and I send him this wish:

Happy birthday, Tommy Too!

Another Septemeber 11 Anniversary

Disclaimer: I know that I am a bit cranky and overly sensitive due to a week of little sleep whilst on deadlines. Due to this over-tired over-emotionalism, I have avoided commuting via the World Trade Center PATH station, instead taking the ferry from Hoboken (which was always my preferred ride when I actually worked at WTC) and walking around the crowds of tourists on Vesey, Greenwich and Church streets.

I work in New York city - downtown to be exact, about a block away from the place most of you know as "Ground Zero". About a week ago, I noticed a new sign on a Vesey Street building I pass en route to my office. It said "Coming soon, 9/11 Memorial Preview Site". So I sighed, rolled my eyes and walked on by.

A few hours ago, upon leaving my office, I decided "what the heck" and walked down Vesey for the PATH for the first time in a week. I was surprised to come across a small mob of tourists midway down the block. They were all gaping and pointing at the new 9/11 "shop", as some were calling it. I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach.

Is this storefront "Preview Site" this really necessary? Is this city so bereft of reason that someone must scurry to open up what surely seems to be a top-class tourist site right now, a few short weeks before September? I guess they want to have it ready for the anniversary rush?

For the past several years, I have read angry and obnoxious comments from "New Yorkers" in teh NY Times City Room blog. New Yorkers who say they are sick and tired of 9/11 family members making such a big deal of the anniversary. I wish I could tell each and every one of them how I truly wish that my family and I could quietly and privately visit the place my brother died, especially upon the anniversary of his death. But that is not possible, because thousands of other people's brothers also died in the same place that same day.

And so we bow to the inevitable and mourn as a larger family.

I think I speak for most family members when I say that we do not ask for every New Yorker to stop in their tracks and mourn with us. But we do need people but respect that each of us grieves in our own way. God willing, these snarky people will never have to watch their loved ones slowly die on television.

How do you explain 9/11 to a child?

Today, the wee nieces and I were hiking in the abandoned cemetery. My 5 year old niece turned and asked me, "is Tommy was buried here?"

I was a little taken aback, as Madi had never known Tommy, and had never mentioned him before.

I replied that Tommy's grave was in a cemetery closer to her Grandma's house. When she asked where he was when he wasn't there, I told her he was in heaven (not a construct easily understood by the young, as I know from personal experience!). Then she wanted to know if he can leave heaven - which led to a very brief explanation about how being in heaven and being dead is a permanent condition.
After talking this over with my sis-in-law later in the afternoon, I learned that my niece had actually overheard some grown-up conversations. A warning to all grown-ups: children hear everything! Even if you think you are speaking in code, or that they are distracted with something else, or are even sleeping in another room: children live to root out the mysteries and secrets in their lives!

Leah shared with me that Madi had also recently asked her about Tommy - questions along the lines of "so did the plane crash into him...? " and so Leah had the heartrending task of telling a tale of evil and murder to her precious and innocent child.

She had to explain to Madi that she was never going to meet her Uncle Tommy in this lifetime - because Uncle Tommy worked for Cantor Fitzgerald on the 104th floor of the World Trade Center.

And his first day back at work after a brief paternity leave was Tuesday, September 11, 2001.

An no one came home from work on that very say day.

Grief, Children and 9/11

I spent time this morning with my son, Matt - we went for tea at Starbucks before he drove me to my train. I enjoy these little bits of time we carve out for each other, they keep us close.  I get to enjoy the company of an interesting young man who happens to be my son, and we talk about our lives, about politics, about music, and more.

Today, we talked about death - a very specific death. It seems that Matt has chosen to wear a very special suit this weekend (my cousin is being married on Saturday!!). This suit had been custom-made for my brother, Tommy. Tommy was murdered on 9/11 and our world will never be the same.

For Matt, wearing this suit is a special honor, and it makes him feel very close to Tommy. But it also has brought back, very sharply, his pain and feelings of loss. Tommy was like a father to Matt - they had a very special bond and the loss of Tommy will impact Matt forever.

We discussed why God would allow Tommy to die when we needed him and wanted him here. It is moments like this when my faith truly sustains me, but I know Matt is still struggling for answers.

How do we teach our children acceptance? To accept that God allows terrible things to happen? To accept that we live in a broken world? How do we teach them to understand and accept that God will "perfect" a murder, that He created a way for Tommy's death serve His will? How do we explain this to our children so that they understand, when sometimes we don't?

I explained to Matt that perhaps God's plan for him requires that he has a special and very personal understanding of great loss. Matt has certainly been incredibly involved with Tommy's children, to the point where they think of him more as a favorite uncle/big brother than a cousin.

We discussed that perhaps he is being prepared for a special purpose in life. Perhaps at some point, he will be called to help children in need.

 Not that he wants to hear any of this - as he puts it, "I would cut off my hand with a butter knife if I could spend 5 minutes with Uncle Tommy".

Eight years have come and gone, and still there is so much grief, and yet also so much love! Perhaps Matt would not have appreciated the loves in his life if he had never grieved so deeply?

Each of us have found ways of handling our grief: the scholarship, the golf outing, spending time with Tommy's children, spending time with each other.

As I type, my PATH train is weaving its way thru the foundations of the World Trade Center, the foundations of the new "Freedom Tower".

Birth, death, rebirth as something new.

Creation, destruction, re-creation.

Maybe there is something to learn, still?