Excerpt: 'Love You, Mean It'

ByABC News via logo
September 8, 2006, 1:58 PM

Sept. 11, 2006 — -- They call themselves the "Widows Club" -- four young women bound by the loss of their husbands on Sept. 11, 2001.

Following the attacks on the World Trade Center, each received an outpouring of sympathy from friends, relatives, in-laws and co-workers.

These women, however, found that they offered each other a kind of support and consolation that no one else could provide.

"Love You, Mean It" is a collection of their experiences: how the widows met their husbands, how they spent Sept. 11, and how they grieved afterward.

At once heartbreaking and inspiring, the collection is unlike any other book about 9/11.

Security is mostly a superstition.It does not exist in nature,nor do the children of men as a whole experience it.Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure.Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.To keep our faces toward change andbehave like free spiritsin the presence of fate is strength undefeatable.-- HELEN KELLER

The Widows Club July 2002

It was a Tuesday in July, the second Tuesday that would change our lives forever. We'd decided to meet in a bar on Park Avenue South, not far from where we all work in midtown Manhattan. "Let's do early drinks," we said, like we were going on a date and wanted to see how things worked out before committing to dinner.

Clear blue skies over the city were deepening before sunset as we left our offices. Not too hot, no signs of storms. The kind of perfect summer evening that makes New Yorkers want to go out and do something. And everyone was going somewhere with someone that night, or so it seemed. Just because our lives had come to a standstill, it didn't mean the world stopped turning for everyone else. Happy couples were strolling arm in arm to dinner. Husbands and wives chatted over drinks in sidewalk cafés. Everywhere we turned we were faced with the reminders.

On the way to the bar, we tried our best to focus on the evening ahead and not to look back. Ten months later we were still too defeated for anything like excitement -- we knew that whether we were in some Park Avenue bar or on top of Mount Everest, this constant ache would be right there with us. But what we can say is that we were thankful we had plans that evening and that we were going to meet one another. We were all friends with Claudia by now and we'd met everyone else in the group at least once. We'd all been attracted to Claudia's determination, her refusal to let the unthinkable destroy her life forever. We sensed that we had much more in common than the obvious. And let's face it, at the end of every working day, there were so many hours left over in the evening that if we didn't arrange to meet someone -- anyone -- it would be yet another evening of go-home-and-get-under-the-covers-again and pray for the time to pass. Time seemed like an eternity.

Ann:I was the first one to arrive. I sat at the downstairs bar and ordered a drink to steady my nerves. My main worry, as I watched the door, was that I was going to be the odd one out in the group, the fish out of water. I'd met Julia and Pattie, so I knew that they were city girls, just like Claudia. And here I was, fresh from the suburbs, a mom with three kids. I hadn't lived in the city for years. My life right now revolved around juggling a full-time job and raising my children by myself, keeping my broken family together, not trawling the bars of Manhattan. I was wondering if I was going to fit in. Why was I worrying? This wasn't like me. Or was it? It was hard to remember anymore. To my relief I looked up and recognized Pattie coming toward me, glasses on and hair pulled back, dressed all in black.

Pattie:I was the next one to arrive. At that time, I was barely going through the motions, staying functional; I wasn't allowing myself to operate beyond the immediate demands of get up, get dressed, go to work, come home.I recognized the pretty woman with the blond hair at the bar right away. Claudia had introduced us briefly a few weeks ago. I'd been at a bar with work colleagues and Claudia and Ann happened to be sitting next to us having drinks."Hi, remember me?" I said to Ann.She pulled me in, kissed me on my cheek. "Of course!"Over the past ten months it had been so difficult for me to connect with new people. But with Ann, right away we had an easy rapport and I sensed a willingness in myself to be honest and vulnerable.Apart from anything else, I felt relieved not to have to answer the question "How are you doing?" I never knew how to answer it and Ann didn't ask.That night, I was wearing black, as usual, not because I was following any traditional guidelines for mourning but because for me, the lights had gone out.

Julia:I know I was nervous about coming to meet everyone. I was so unhappy at the time that I often worried about how I would react in social situations. This had never been a problem for me before. In fact, not so long ago, I had a reputation for being the karaoke-party-throwing girl, a big personality wrapped up in a small frame, always ready to have fun. Although I was anxious on my way to the bar, at the same time there was also this underlying numbness about me, because by this stage, I'd pretty much given up trying to feel better. It was like I was waving the white flag. I'd surrendered. I was in a "nothing to lose" state of mind.I saw Ann and Pattie at the bar, took a deep breath, and made my way over.

Claudia:I was the last to get there."I'm so happy we finally managed to get together," I said, and I meant it.All three of these women had given me so much already. They'd been there for me and let me be there for them. Any small hurdle they'd managed to overcome -- driving a familiar route alone without bursting into tears, sleeping without pills, managing to make it a day without melting down -- if they could do it, I could do it. It gave me hope. So I was pleased that they were going to get a chance to spend time together, because my instincts told me they were going to get along.I saw that the other three had ordered their cocktails of choice. A good start. "Vodka martini up, with olives," I told the bartender.This evening, like Pattie, I was wearing black, but not because I was grieving. This is New York. Everyone wears black in New York. Even if it's the height of summer. Even if you're not in mourning for your husband, killed in the World Trade Center ten months ago and still not coming home.