Blake Allison remembers his wife
Published on September 19th, 2001
STONEHAM, MA - Sometimes, fate is beautiful. Such was the case when fate lured Anna Allison into his classroom 19 years ago at Cambridge’s Center for Adult Education in Harvard Square. Although destiny sleekly masked its intentions from the wine professor on that cool Boston night, Anna Allison magically felt the invisible connection that would inevitably join the two as one. Somehow she sensed fate’s commanding presence – indeed, she had met the man who had been put on earth for her.
Sometimes, fate is ugly. Such was the case when an exploding ball of fire stole away the woman who had been put on earth for him. As thousands of Americans gasped at the expanding cloud of murky soot and debris that fed off of the falling World Trade Center, Blake Allison’s entire life spun and collapsed around him as well. But he lost more than his innocence and sense of security on that Tuesday morning, he felt a piece of himself vanish into an endless abyss of loneliness.
"Yesterday morning I woke up, rolled over and looked at my wife’s picture beside the bed and said, ‘You know what? Somebody murdered my wife,’" said Allison, his chin and bottom lip quivering slightly as a tear slipped out of the corner of his eye.
Allison sits in a tall fabric chair in a dimly lit room within his Stoneham home. Dressed in a pair of tan khakis and blue collared shirt, his salt and pepper hair neatly combed, he hardly appears to be a man who would let tragedy defeat him. But you can’t help but notice the somewhat hollow look within his saddened brown eyes, a distant and painful gaze that seems to express a heart-wrenching emptiness.
Yet, his welcoming gestures and quick flashes of a smile illustrate that bitterness and rage reside far from his small home. Instead, he is a man slowly recovering from a soul-splintering injury, one that shredded and tore at the very fabric of his being.
"After a period of time, a relationship becomes very seamless, you don’t feel separate. You are just very at one and comfortable with each other," explains Allison, his gesturing hands slightly shaking from what seems to be a continuous state of shock.
In a twisted instance of irony, Blake Allison lost his wife in the same way they were first pulled together, in tragedy. Nearly a year-and-a-half after the two first met within the classrooms of the Cambridge Center for Adult Education, he found himself the victim of a ravenous fire that consumed his small wine shop in Harvard Square.
"She had called me out of concern because the building that housed the wine store I managed burned. She said, ‘Gosh, if you need to get out and just not think about it, why don’t we just go to dinner somewhere.’ We agreed, hung up the phone and realized we had made a date for Valentine’s day," Allison said, his lips curving to flash a brief smile.
Nearly seven years later, the two were married. Their bond grew exponentially stronger for 10 years, with no sign of weakening. Then, on Sept. 11, 2001, fate showed its hideous face and stole Blake’s Anna away from him hours after he brought her to Logan Airport.
"We got her ticket and then went outside and sat on a bench. And then I said, ‘I’m sorry, but I have to leave before you get on your plane.’ I usually waited until she was down the gangway to the plane…it was just something we did for each other," explained Allison. "She said, ‘I understand.’ We hugged and kissed a couple of times. I said, ‘I love you’ and she said, ‘I love you too’. And I turned and walked away, turning back to her one more time…that was the last time I saw her,” said Allison, swallowing down the emotions that tried to choke his words.
Reflecting on his 10-year union with his wife, Allison said there are many things he’ll miss about her. Perhaps one of her best qualities, he’ll miss her laugh. But more important, he’ll miss the piece of himself that he lost on that sunny September morning, that disastrous morning when his wife’s plane pierced through glass and concrete like an assassin’s bullet.
"Her laugh is one of the most enduring and endearing memories I have of her. She became engulfed by her laugh. It just took hold of her and you could see it involved every fiber of her being. It was infectious," said Allison of his wife’s laughter. "And then, somewhat selfishly, I think, where am I ever going to find anybody who loves me that much? How will I ever go on in my life with that big piece of me missing?"
As Allison speaks of the void created by his wife’s departure from this world, one can’t help but wonder what could fill this emptiness. Indeed, what has this vacuum pulled into his being – a soul-rotting indifference, a fiery rage, a vengeful thirst for the blood of the perpetrators? As he explained, none of these emotions have flooded that emptiness; he has avoided such sentiments through the acts and kindness of others.
"There’s no substitute for the love of family and friends in a situation like this. It’s been invaluable to me beyond expression…it helps me get through some of the darker moments."
Showing his lack of rage and bitterness to an even further degree, Allison explained what he thinks should happen to the responsible parties.
"I am not in favor of rash and indiscriminate acts of retaliation that could lead to the deaths of more innocent people. I think as much as possible, the guilty should be tracked down and brought before a court of law to face justice," he stated with conviction.
Outside, within Allison’s small backyard, fate seems to ignore the immense hurt that resonates across the country. The yard, a flowing garden splashed with bright yellow, white and green flowers, glows from the warm rays of the brilliant sun. Above, the plush blue sky is speckled with small fluffy clouds, and the trees and plants that line the streets of Stoneham sway gently in the wind. But then, hours later, just as unpredictably as the day’s fate tore thousands from their families, the sky opens up. The thunderous splatter of rain slams onto the ground. Finally, the heavens begin to mourn.
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