thelesbianlifestyle.com

By Cay Morgan

Like so many people, I remember Sept. 11, 2001 vividly, for many reasons.

On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, my partner called me around 6 a.m.  With J living in the DC-metro area and me living in West Virginia, it was our usual routine to start the day by talking to one another.

 Our relationship was only a few months old and intense, as it continues to be today.

At 40-something, J. had just come out.

She was separating from her husband, and though they were amicable, it was a difficult time for all us.

We were especially concerned about the impact that these transitions would have on her four children.

Our relationship, though intense, was often and off again, on again situation, as J. struggled through the very difficult changes she was facing.

I have identified myself as a lesbian since my teens. The major part of my “coming out” was years behind me. I was not married when I came out, nor had I had children. My “coming out,” though difficult, did not include disentangling my identity as straight woman, married, with children.

 I had incredible respect for the strength and courage that it took for J to come to terms with being a lesbian in her 40s after more than 20 years of marriage and four children. I continue to be amazed at these women who come out after years of secrecy and/or denial.

It is a huge process for all of to come to terms with being lesbian, but I think it is especially hard for women who, after suppressing their sexuality for years, come out to a world that has often transfixed them in traditional roles as wives and mothers.

J. called me that morning. The sadness in her voice choked her words.

“I have to break-up with you. I can’t do this.”

My heart sank. We talked for awhile both of crying through the “I love yous” and “good-byes.”

We hung up, and with a very heart, got ready for work and left.

At the time I worked as publicist at a major university about three or so hours east of DC and about an hour and a half south of Pittsburgh.

Around nine a.m. a friend called me. She said she was watching TV and a plane crashed into the World Trade Center. As she watched, the second plane hit. Then came news about the Pentagon crash and then the plane crash in Pennsylvania.

By then our office in chaos as we received hundreds of calls from the University community and others desperate for information on loved ones.

West Virginia University have strong ties to Washington, DC, we also had two of our own reporters at a conference in Pennsylvania near the site.

The horror of the unfolding events was made even more fearful for me as I wondered about the safety of my partner in Northern Virginia. The phone lines, congested with emergency calls, were useless. E-mails to her remain unanswered. Inside I was on fire with the pain and agony of not knowing about her safety.

Our reporters in Pennsylvania arrived safely back at the office, the conference was cancelled. They were very near the crash site and think they heard the roar of the plane as it spiraled down.

I was one of the lucky ones that day. I finally got in touch with J. We sobbed when we finally heard one another’s voices. She was not in DC at the time of the crash and was safely at home with the kids.

We made up immediately and are still together today. Life is both fragile and strong, and we realized we had something together that is rare and to be hung onto tightly. That we are stronger and better together than apart.

West Virginia University lost many former students, faculty and staff that day; their names engraved in plaques that align a walkway near a local river where family and respecters place sad mementoes of those they lost.

I later left WVU to be with my partner. In a career move, I chose to use my public relations skills and my master’s degree in community counseling to work recruiting foster families for a wonderful social service agency in near DC.

When I moved, soon after the sniper attacks in Northern Virginia (one down the street from my partner), and began my new job, I became affiliated with the 9-11 Survivors Group – an association of social workers brought together to help family members impacted by the terrorist attacks.

From the desks of nearby colleagues, I heard daily accounts of the personal tragedies of those who lost family members in the attacks.

 They lost their hearts, their homes, moms, dads, kids, friends, neighbors. Many did not want to go on, and I overheard many frantic workers trying to keep many devastated from killing themselves. We worked with families who suddenly had to place children in foster care because they lost a mom or dad, sometimes both.

Later, when Zacarias Moussaoui, one of the terrorists, was brought to trial in Federal Court in Alexandria, VA, I was asked to be among the counselors to help family members called to testify who still agonized and grieved their lost lives and loves.

As this day comes to a close, I remember with respect and silent prayers those that were lost that day; their family members whose lives were twisted like putty, and I thank God for the love of my partner and family.

 As with all things frail, I know that one can never know how long a loved one will prevail in one’s life. And I bow down in respect to the strength of the universe and the healing power of love in the hopes that all souls broken will be made whole again; that love will always triumph over anger and death.

Peace.

Cay Morgan