Three years ago, I joined the 2,996 project. 2,996 people signed up to write about a person who lost their life on September 11th, 2001. Some of you may remember it, some of you might have been a part of it and some of you might have no clue what I’m talking about.
We wrote about someone we’d never met. A man or woman, any race, age or religion; we didn’t know until we were given the name. The idea was to give each of them a face. To help the world see, that these were not nameless strangers who lost their lives that day. They were loved ones, friends, people we’d all know. They each could have been our neighbors. Eight years have gone by since that day, but I’ll never forget. Three years have gone by since i did this the first time, but I’ve never forgotten the man whose name I was given. I will always remember him and wonder about his family. I will never hear about 9/11 and not remember him. I don’t see a sign, or a name of a movie that references it and not think about him. His name was Tom. Thomas J. Kennedy. Until the day I die, I will remember his name. He had a wife, Allison. Two sons, Michael and James, who are a few years older than Morgan. My guess is they are about 8 and 10 years old today. I doubt I will ever forget their names either. I will always hope that his boys grow up to be good strong men; men their dad would be proud of.
Agree with the war, don’t agree with the war. Politics aside. None of it matters in remembering the people who died on that day. This day is a day to remember the men, women and children who lost their lives and to remember the ones left behind.
This man, he got into my heart. I’d never met him and I’m sure I’ll never meet his family, but they touched me forever. We did it to remember and I know I always will.
When I signed up for the 2,996 project, I had no idea which name would be sent to me. I didn’t know if I’d get a man, woman or child. I didn’t know if that person would be young or old. From America or from another country. It didn’t really matter to me. I just wanted to be able to remember someone who was no longer here. I wanted to be a part of something wonderful. I feel that this tribute is wonderful. When we talk about people who are no longer with us, it keeps their memory alive. At least that’s what my mother always told me and I have no reason to doubt this.
What I didn’t know in accepting a name was that the person would get into my world. The name I though I was getting, became a person. A man, with a life and people who loved him. A man, not to much different from my husband, brothers or dads. And he got in. I let him in. As I searched the web for him, I found more and more. Just small things here and there, but the pieces came together like a puzzle. As I found more pieces, I grew more attached. How funny to grow emotionally attached to a man you’ve never met. But I did anyway. That’s when I started getting worried about this post. Could I do it right? Could I make you feel the way I do about this man? To care about him, even thought you’d never heard his name? Well, I’ll have to give it a try.
Thomas J. Kennedy (Tom) was born on January 24, 1965 at 12:45pm. He was born in the car right in front of the hospital. His parents, Eileen and Bill had trouble getting there in time because of a bad snowstorm. He had two older brothers, Brian and Bob. He had blond hair and “the bluest eyes in the world” according to his mom. She also has said on his memorial site that he was funny, always cracking jokes and a gentle patient man who everyone loved. His father, Bill said that he loved all babies and kids and they tended to gravitate towards him, because he spoke to them like they were adults. He also loved to ski and be on boats.
Tom was married to a woman named Allison and had two baby boys, Michael and James, who were two and 10 months when their father died. I couldn’t find Michael’s birthday, but by guessing, I’d say he is 7 years old today. James will be five on November 17th. He was a hands on dad who loved to spend time with his boys, bathing them and reading them Goodnight Moon every night. This is the same book, we’ve read to Morgan and Bailey their entire lives. I read somewhere that he wanted to have five kids, but two was all he was around long enough to have. His eyes lit up every time he told someone about his boys. His aunt said she’d never seen him happier than on the days his sons were born. He loved being a husband and father.
Tom was at the World Trade Center that day because he was a firefighter with the Ladder Company 101 in Brooklyn. His company was one of the first on the scene because their firehouse was just across the east river from downtown Manhattan. There were seven guys “brothers” who went in together. None of them made it out. They all died heroes, having saved many lives that day. Tom when in to try and save more people, when the towers fell. He died doing what he loved, what he lived for. Even before she knew what had happened to her husband, Allison knew that he wasn’t afraid to go into the fire. She said “they were all excited to go into the fire. That’s what they live for.” “They didn’t have fear, that we as civilians would have. They didn’t ever think they wouldn’t come out of a fire, ever.” He had no way of knowing that September 11th, 2001 would be the last day of his life. That it would be the last day he’d ever seen his wife and sons. That he’d die a hero. And I can’t say it for certain, but even knowing it, he may have gone in anyway. It is what firefighters do. He was a firefighter, it is their job to protect people. They all know the risk. Everyday when they go to work, they are putting themselves at risk. For us. For people who they don’t know.
Everything I read about Tom was a glowing memory of his life. People he’d saved through the years. People who thought they were going to die, but instead he came to their rescue. Some called him a hero, others an angel. There were stories from family and friends. Stories about fishing with nephews, playing hide and seek with his nieces, skiing with friends, being there for his family. Everyone said how wonderful his boys are, that his wife is doing a wonderful job with them. There are wonderful stories about her too. People say that their son Michael looks like her, but James is the spitting image of him. People tell stories about the boys too, how big they are, smart and sweet and caring and how they are each others best friends. I’m sure Tom would love to know that. In fact, he probably does.
Tom never saw his youngest son walk. Never walked his boys into pre-school or kindergarten. Never taught his boys to ride bikes, read, catch fish. He’ll never get to teach them to drive or how to be nice to girls. He won’t be there when they get married and have babies of their own. He would be 41 years old today. Thomas J. Kennedy was a father, husband, son, grandson, uncle, nephew, friend, firefighter and a hero.
Tom did indeed die a hero, but he was a hero in life too.
I spent most of the day at the graduation and subsequent graduation party of a cousin’s daughter. Nothing makes you feel older than going to the graduation of a beautiful young woman, who you’ve known since she was a bouncy four year old child. We had an absolute blast, but I am tired and sunburned.
Since this weekend will probably be dead on the Internet, I thought I’d post something from my original blog. One of our cousins has a 20 month old and it reminded me how much fun that age is. Bailey will be five in July people. Five. Like five years old. I look at her and it shocks me how big she is. I still picture that little toddler who I wrote this post about, instead of my big girl, who will be done with pre-school on Wednesday. So, here we go.
My assumption is that this was originally written sometime in Fall, 2006.
You know, two year olds get such a bad rap. Yes I know they deserve it a lot of the time, you know with the constant tantrums and no’s and never seeming to know what they actually want…unless it is cookies and jelly beans. All of this and way more give two year olds a bad rap, but there are things about having a two year old that I adore. I thought I’d share the loveliness of having a two year old.
I love toddlers dancing. Mine dances in the mall, the grocery store, in an elevator, in the car and anywhere else where there is music. Last night while waiting for our to-go order, she made me play the songs on my phone. She danced to all of them. She (and her sister) love to show me their “moves”, which vary from actual dance moves to stuff she’s made up to a lovely booty shake to gymnastics. Now both of my girls are great dancers and have complete rhythm, but even when toddlers don’t, it is still cute.
I love the fact that everything can be made into a story and that stories don’t have to end with happily ever after and be word for word like it does when you are four almost five years old. I can tell her a story about a woman with a cell phone talking to a dinosaur about which shoes he’d like to buy and even if I’m holding a Thomas the Tank engine book, she is okay with my story.
I love watching their chubby legs run. I love that they love their chubby legs and love nothing more than to have you tickle them and tease them about them.
I love the sing song voice they have when they are doing something they know you don’t want them to be doing. “I doin nothin Mama”, in a singsong voice cracks me up every time.
I love that they clap for themselves when they learn something new.
I love when they say, I hold you, because it means they want you to hold them and cuddle with them. I even love the words, I hold you, because it shows that they really know who it benefits the most.
I love slobbery kisses and bear hugs and how they wrap their whole body around your legs.
I love that they don’t care if they match or if you give them a Pebbles hairdo every day.
I love shopping in the toddler section of stores. I will be so sad when I have to move to the slutty bigger girl section.
I love Jammie’s with feet and clean toddlers in them.
I love that they still have some baby qualities, like rolly elbows and chubby thighs, but you are starting to see that they look like little people.
I love how they speak, not quite right, but getting the hang of it. I love that the middle of the ABC’s are all lumped together and that they say things like Nem, Nems instead of M&M’s. And they have no problem with you correcting them or deciding it is so cute that you repeat it.
I love that they are so active that you think you might have a heart attack trying to keep up, but when they crash they do it quickly, sometimes falling asleep sitting up.
I love that they do everything whole heartedly, whether that is a tantrum or playing.
I love that they love to hold your hand and sit in your lap, the second you need to actually be doing something.
I guess that’s good for now. But I really do love two year olds. What do you love about two year olds?
To my mom, the woman who carried me inside of her for 38.5 weeks. The woman who laid in bed for the last 3 months of that time, hoping beyond hope, that she and I would make it through okay. The woman who nearly died having me. The woman who didn’t know for 29 hours if I was even alive. The woman who spent the first two months of my life laying on a couch with me on her chest trying to get better. The woman who raised me, played with me, never took crap from me, who loved me every day and every night. The woman who taught me how to be a woman and a mother. My friend, my mom. Happy Mothers Day Mama, I love you.
To my babies, all three of you crazies, for making me the mother I am today. I adore you.
To my husband for giving me the three crazies. You have my whole heart.
To all of you, those who are mothers, those who have mothers and those who help mother the rest of us anyway, happy mother’s day.
In the next few weeks, I’m going to have some guest posters. I need the freedom to not write when I can’t, and to write only when I am ready. I’ve asked some amazingly lovely friends of mine to help me out. It doesn’t mean I won’t post at all, but I need to know that it’s okay if I don’t. I need time. Time to process, time to heal, time to grieve. Time to just be. Please know I’m still here, reading, tweeting…..I’m just needing a break from posting.
I found an old file, posts I had written before, on my previous blog. I might share a few in the next few weeks. I’ll put the date on them, so you know they were previously written. Some of you knew me then, so you might recognize them.
Below is the first one. I thought it seemed like a good thing to share, seeing how tomorrow is Mother’s Day. Obviously my girls were a lot younger then.
You know you are a parent when…
You buy the Princess and Spiderman Fruit Snacks instead of the organic real fruit infused with a cup of beet juice snacks, even though they are supposedly healthier, for three reasons. One, you know it is a lie, they are all full of sugar. Two, sugar never killed anyone. Three, it makes your kids smile and happy for at least three minutes.
You have Cheerios and Goldfish in your cabinets at all times. You also find random Cheerios and Goldfish under couch cushions and under your car seats at all times.
You drop a dry erase marker in a client meeting and say “uh oh”, without even thinking.
You smile a bit and gently laugh at the woman who said “uh oh” in the meeting.
You give your last piece of spicy tuna roll that was on the way to your mouth to your two year old when she says, “Mama, I hab it, purty please”, without a second thought. (Even if not eating that piece does make you want sushi for two more days, until you break down and buy more sushi.)
You find yourself dancing in odd places, like the grocery store or the elevator just because you like the song. When you realize where you are, you don’t stop, because you’re a parent and what the hell do you care what strangers think?
You go into a toy store or go online to start your birthday/Christmas shopping and while you do think to yourself, will she/he like it, you also ask yourself it it is loud enough to give you a migraine and will it hurt if I step on it at 2am in the dark?
You buy things that give you migraines and hurt your feet at 2am, because you know they will love it.
You get up in the middle of the night when you hear your child cry out even though you just want to say snuggled in you nice warm bed.
You watch The Incredibles, the Muppet’s Show and the Magic School Bus over and over again until you know the entire dialog, but you don’t make them quit watching it.
You take dozens of pictures, just hoping one of them will capture the magic of the moment. You also take pictures to remember how little they were once.
You read The Monster at the End of This Book, Goodnight Moon and Blueberries for Sal each and every night to your toddler, because they love those books and only those books, even though you’d secretly love to toss those books in the ocean or poke your eyeballs out before you will ever want to read them again.
You go into the kitchen at work and grab a bottle of water and before you take a drink, you write your name on it, so you know, there are no fights.
You look at teenagers and think they are such babies and wonder what your kids will be like at that age instead of remembering how cool you were back then.
You tell random people with newborns in stores to enjoy it while they can, because they won’t stay that tiny and huggable for long.
Happy Mother’s day everyone.
-Issa
Grab My Button!
I’m a joiner
