story6043.xml

story6043.xml

born-digital

story

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no

2002-09-12

The Fire by Randy Sullivan

I awoke early on this beautiful Sunday morning following the attack by terrorists
in New York City. My first thoughts again turned to the senseless carnage of the
previous Tuesday. As I lay there I could hear my son restlessly moving around in
his bed.

He hasn?t slept well since the great evil of the day that turned our world around
and I was hoping that he would begin to settle into his normal routine. But I could
tell from the sounds that he was still having trouble. And again I found myself
angry that the faceless cowards had brought pain to my son.

As I lay there I decided that we should do an activity together that would bring
back some normalcy to his life. I would need my chainsaw later in the day and
that meant I would have to go up to our land to get it from the shed. I thought
perhaps I could take him with me. We could stop at the store and get a little something to eat along the way.

The radio in my old truck was turned to a country station as we made the 12-mile journey to the land. Wyatt eating his doughnut and I was sipping my coffee as we went on our way. Then my son said, dad, is that the woman with the cell phone? I wasn?t really paying attention but then heard a woman?s voice on the radio. What cell phone I asked? You know, the woman in the building talking to the fireman.

It was then that I remembered the news report about the trapped woman who had called 911 from beneath the rubble. No Wyatt, she?s at home now. I didn?t tell him her home was with the Lord, as the chance of survivors has grown slim. And I knew that the pictures in his mind wouldn?t go away. At least for today. For him, for me or for my countrymen. And I wondered how other parents were dealing with this.

The morning was beautiful with the eastern sun still low in the sky shinning through the trees. There was no wind and it was particularly still in the woods. The silence was wonderfully therapeutic and I could tell that Wyatt was enjoying this early morning adventure with his dad.

Since we had a couple hours before church I asked him if he'd like me to make a fire in the pit. He was excited about that idea so I did. The wood was a little damp so the fire put out a lot of smoke. As the smoke wafted through the tree's it gave off sort of a misty look. And the sun?s rays were clearly seen coming through the mask of smoke.

Wyatt was quite taken with the beauty of it and said, Dad, from now on when planes crash into buildings we will do this. Not quite onto his train of thought I said, do what Wyatt? He said come to the land and have a fire. I asked him why that would be helpful and he said because it's so beautiful that it makes me forget the burning buildings.

For the umpteenth time since Tuesday, I held him close to my chest so that he couldn't see the tears rolling down my cheeks and told him that yes, we will do this everytime the planes hit the buildings. And once again I silently dammed the faceless cowards.