story8617.xml

story8617.xml

born-digital

story

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no

2002-11-05

On September 11, 2001, I died. Not in the literal sense. I was thousands of miles away from the tragedy that unfolded in the skies of the Northeast, supposedly safe in my home in Oregon. The Boeing 767s crashing into the World Trade Center, however, were as real on my television as if I had been there. When the towers fell, leaving shells of dust like giant ghostly tombstones for the three thousand who died, my soul also died. I watched my entire life crumble away with those buildings.
Just three weeks later, while I still grappled with my shattered internal world, my daughter, Kes, was born. The moment of her birth was like none I had experienced before. The amount of emotion, the feeling of strong connection, was something I couldn?t have imagined. That little blue-eyed face staring up at me was burned in my mind with the same intensity as the giant fireballs that emerged from the World Trade Center towers. I wanted to cry. What kind of world had she been born into? The debris that rained down from the buildings were like tears, as if the towers mourned the loss of so many, and the sad state of a species that could bring such destruction upon itself. Yet here was this little gem in my arms. I was supposed to be overjoyed. I was. But it was tainted with a powerful melancholy. And a newfound purpose. She would get the best I could offer. The best possible shot at life in a world full of potential for disaster. I sometimes wonder what I would have done if Kes hadn?t been conceived. I try not to think about it too much. She gave me a strength, a purpose, at a time when I was lost, seeking out the pieces that would start a foundation for a new me.
My wife, Sil, a wonderful person who endured an 18-hour labor to produce that gift of Kes, was a D.C. brat. Apparently growing up in the center of U.S. politics prepared her for the kind of disaster that unfolded on that sunny day in September. She was not affected by the events of 9-11 as badly as I. She showed incredible strength. As I sat in a daze staring up at a sky empty of planes, she continued to work, to live. She didn?t change. And I did. Instantly there was distance between us. I couldn?t understand how anyone could witness such a terrible act without being so badly hurt as I. But then, we?re different people. She didn?t spend much of her time worrying about things like the Fermi Paradox, technological singularity, and disasters great and small, like I did. Science fiction had been a significant piece of who I was for most of my life. I had conceived of flying vehicles being used as deadly missiles against high-rises and had even drawn such ideas over a decade before such fantasy became reality. Having one of my fears realized was an incredible shock. I no longer feel the need to look into the future. On 9-11 science fiction died with the rest of my soul.
I?ve just outlined what could have been a great science fiction story. From the jets, the high rises, a security system that was avoided and even the television and satellites that made witnessing the horror possible, there?s the basis of technology having a strong affect on my life. From the collapse of my soul, the start of its reconstruction, the birth of my daughter and the alteration of my relationship with Sil, we have a powerful set of emotions. But this story is real. And I haven?t lived long enough to know where this tale is going to lead.
What I do know is that, instead of spending so much time trying to live in a future that looks pretty bleak and writing stories about it, I?ve now become dedicated to the present. Live life. See the world. Show Kes all the wonders that are out there. Make sure she has a shot at something grand before some unexpected event takes everything away. Reconnect with Sil, reconnect with the basis of who I am.
This is the new me born of the ashes of 9-11.