I met my husband in 1985. Friends insisted on taking me to The World Trade Center to see the Big Apple from the observatory, it was a beautiful September morning. On our way out, there were fire engines and firemen everywhere. My eyes locked with one fireman, we smiled at each other; then he went inside and I walked away.
I worked as a secretary for a law firm in the Financial District, across the street was a sushi bar called Ramen’s. One afternoon as I sat having lunch, that same fireman came strolling in. Our eyes met again. He walked over to me and sat down, introducing himself as Lieutenant George Bresnan. It felt from the start like we were old friends. Our first date was at the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art, dinner at Figaro’s. We were married six months later.
We didn’t have a perfect marriage: George drank a little too much and I was selfish. Every now and then I fell out of love with him, but I never stopped liking him better than anyone else. We had three children: a girl and two boys. He always called me before he came home, letting me know he was ok.
George was at the World Trade Center bombing in 1993. That incident changed him; he seemed nervous, like he was waiting for something to happen. He quit drinking completely. We took up Martial Arts and Yoga; we fell even more in love.
I could feel his apprehension building. I often asked him about it; he said it was nothing, just work. I think he always knew.
That morning George called me saying something happened at the World Trade Center and they were all going over. He didn’t even say good-bye. I cried for a long time. My parents came from Boston to help me take care of my children. I couldn’t get out of bed. George was gone and no one could tell me why. Several weeks went by, they still hadn’t found his body.
One night I felt a kiss on my cheek. I woke up startled, there sitting on the bed was George. For a few moments I thought 9/11 had just been a nightmare. George smiled, telling me I had to let him go. He promised we would see each other again. He said they would find his body in the morning.
I woke up crying; then I noticed the windows were open, they had been closed for weeks due to the cold. It was a beautiful Indian Summer’s morning. Just before noon, two of my husband’s friends came by telling me searchers found George’s body.
Was it a dream? Did George really visit me? That is a mystery I never want answered.
That was twenty years ago. Our children are grown, successful with families. I’ve had adventures, lovers, never re-married. I lived a good life. I don’t fear death. I wait to feel George’s kiss on my cheek once again.
Bio:
Catherine Cahill was born in East Hartford Connecticut. She worked for the State of Connecticut for 31 years, retiring in 2017. Since then, she has devoted her time to training in Mixed Martial Arts and writing stories.
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