On that morning five years ago BBFK called me and told me to turn on the television. My ex-boyfriend BB called me a few minutes later.

I followed the Wildcats email list to check that Wildkitties in the NYC vicinity were okay. To know that their loved ones were as well. I emailed EB to see if she had heard from MA who last I knew worked in the Twin Towers.
He had moved to a new job in different offices.

I emailed or called my friends who had friends in NYC.

I called and got calls from friends and family and ex-boyfriends.

We didn't know what was going on.
We needed to make contact.
We needed to make sure that we were all still here.

Five years later,
it is too early for me.
My heart clenches to hear the merest mention of any story of that day.

Five years later,
I am here. New Yorkers speak of their city as if she were a dear friend or a close relative.
The more time I spend here, the more I see it, the more I hear it.
I walk the streets without fear. I can't say why.
My cousin, EH, worries about this and warns me of where I should not be when it gets too late. Mostly I am not out too late anyway. I'm an old lady.

The world is what it is. Dangerous, uncertain, and beautiful.
That doesn't change despite anyone's best efforts of make it otherwise.

A person who understood this best died recently.
The Crocodile Hunter walked up to danger everyday and grabbed it by the tail. Because he loved dangerous animals and he curiousity was greater than his fear. That is what I loved best about him and why I am so sad that he is gone.

Because as much as life is about staying alive it is also about how and why your life is lived.

So raise a glass and tip your hat

to the Crocodile Hunter
and those loved
and those lost

to living and loving without fear
or rather,
perhaps,
to living and loving despite fear.