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November 3, 2013

November 3, 2002. It was going to be one FUN FILLED New York City day for Tull and Marker. Walk the few blocks from our friend Daniel’s apartment to watch some of the Marathon, head to the Metropolitan Museum to see the Avedon show, grab lunch, perhaps at Carnegie Deli, and then pick up a rental car to drive to Allentown for an overnight visit with John’s sister’s family before heading back for lots more NYC time.

Instead, brilliant sunlight popped through the bedroom window, finding us splayed in misery, paying our penance (we were sure) for the indulgences of our celebratory Saturday which ended just hours ago. Too many raw oysters, too much icy vodka.

Screw the marathon. We slept.

Later, I forced myself out of bed after feeling John’s sweaty forehead. Ran out for a couple of bagels and a thermometer. Perhaps he had the flu.

The rest of the events of that day are almost too painful to relive as I sit here on November 3, 2013 in the comfort of our Santa Fe home.

We endured the cab ride from hell, circling for hours around marathon traffic, during which time John was starting to die in the back seat. We staggered up the stairs of an upper eastside hotel where we fell into bed in a small, dark, room and suffered for the next 36 hours with blistering fevers, paralyzing exhaustion, bone crushing aches and pains, and delusional nightmares.

Eleven years ago today was the beginning. The very start of a long series of life altering events, which careened us through the darkest of tunnels and jettisoned us over the highest of mountain passes. It was the beginning of a time in our lives which, had someone said, “Hey John and Lucinda, let me tell you in detail what you are about to go through for the next few days and then the rest of your lives”, I think we may well have said “no thanks” and found our way to some strong prescription medication and several fifths of vodka.

But no one did and we didn’t and we find ourselves eleven years later plagued only by the visceral memories of those early days when medieval darkness got on an American Airlines flight and traveled with us on a vacation to New York City.

I am here and John is here. We are grateful as hell.