Thank you New York City — for everything

“What?? That’s illegal!” my college classmate exclaimed, wide-eyed with shock.

I was used to the response. I shrugged. “Well, I never had the chance to go!”

No one could ever wrap their head around the fact that I grew up in Upstate New York — and never once set foot in New York City.

Memories of my upbringing consist of being surrounded by apple orchards, gorging myself on Amish sticky buns and driving around fields and fields of cow patties — a la flies.

Visiting NYC was a big expense, and we lived five hours away, so getting there was simply unattainable — therefore, I just stayed put … and mingled with the flies.

At 18, I traded my fly swatter in for a bottle of sunscreen and high tailed it out of Upstate New York to establish permanent residency in California. It wasn’t until this past April — 28 years after leaving — that I finally made it to NYC. Delayed does not mean denied!

I, along with 22 other widows of fallen first responders from all over the country, were just treated to a three-day-trip there by the Gary Sinise Foundation. Two-hundred ladies applied. Twenty-three were chosen.

I am extremely humbled and honored to have been given such a rare, once in a lifetime opportunity.

We were spoiled beyond belief. The festivities commenced on our first night with a breathtaking panoramic view of the city from the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building.

From there we could see that iconic welcoming beacon for immigrants — the Statue of Lady Liberty herself … glowing in the moonlight.

At that moment, I was surprisingly awestruck with emotion, because the realization hit … I was planting my eyes on the same statue countless others have only dreamed of seeing.

Others who’ve dreamed of the freedom that lies just beyond her lighted crown and risen torch. I was standing there as one of the millions fortunate enough to live in the land of the free.

I know this freedom isn’t free. My grandfather, my father and my brother all fought in wars to sustain this freedom. All three were close to losing their lives … more than once.

I don’t take a single day here for granted.

On day two, my fellow widows and I were handed strings of (fake) pearl necklaces and bracelets, along with black cat-eye sunglasses (Audrey Hepburn style) to don before walking into our … breakfast at Tiffany’s!

The food was exquisite and I was proud of myself for muscling down half a spoonful of caviar before politely pushing the plate away. The ambiance of it all was stunning, and yes, I did get to peruse the dazzling Tiffany’s jewelry store itself — a feast for the eyes, a famine for the wallet.

We visited The Metropolitan Museum of Art, which harbors significant art from around the world. Its expanse, if lying down flat, would be the size of 30 football fields.

The docent’s storytelling of the lives of the artists drew me into a state of mesmerization, and I left gaining a whole new appreciation for art I never had before.

We partied on a custom built, multi-million-dollar, highly entertaining theatrical bus called “The Ride,” which was an absolute blast. We saw a Broadway show, and also practiced lines and then acted them out on stage at The Theater Center (an “off-broadway” theater).

These adventures sparked laughter in many of us that we hadn’t enjoyed in a long time.

We divided into groups and ran all over Central Park competing in a scavenger hunt. The pretty pink petals of the cherry blossom trees winked at us, and the daffodils opened their bright buttery mouths in a chorus of cheer. I loved that park. A quiet respite from the bustle all around.

Our last day was probably the highlight for me. We were served escargot and burgers with potato chips snuck inside of them at La Grande Boucherie for lunch, rode the subway and had dinner (filet mignon) at Delmonico’s, the best steakhouse in all of NYC. Our dessert there included flakes of edible gold cascading off of it.

Pictures of our late husbands sat at each of our places — a tearful touch. Each of us had a moment to speak of them and how we are still honoring them today.

We visited The Oculus and Summit 1 Vanderbilt. I wish I had room to describe the glories of those places.

And then … we were dropped off in front of FDNY Station 10 to talk to the guys working there. This was the first station to respond to the 9/11 terrorist attacks.

It sits across the street from the World Trade Center. There’s a beautiful bronze 3-D memorial that spans the wall outside of the station.

I had to separate from the group, walk around the corner and take a breather. I wasn’t trying to be dramatic.

PTSD hits at random times. That was one of them. I just let the tears fall.

All I could think about was the selfless bravery of the first responders — on that day and every day since. How they put their lives on the line, fearlessly. How my firefighter husband perished on duty seven years ago, giving the ultimate sacrifice.

There’s no playing it safe for some, and we are all indebted to those kinds of people — because not everybody signs up to die for complete strangers.

After the station, we headed over to the World Trade Center Memorial Pools, where we were given a white rose to place wherever we felt appropriate. The pools are a solemnly spectacular feat of design and engineering.

There’s even an area dedicated to those who are sick or have died from exposure to toxins in the aftermath of the attacks.

Lastly, we visited the 9/11 Memorial Museum. The stories you hear inside of that place are like tranquilizers to your soul … paralyzing.

Be ready mentally if you ever go.

At one point, when I wasn’t even looking for it, I happened to witness video footage of the actual terrorists walking through TSA checkpoint, and then I heard one of their threatening voices while overtaking the aircraft … from the only black box that was recovered of the three — spine-chilling.

I read one story of a firefighter who had gone up several flights of stairs in the burning tower to save people … he found a working office telephone and called out, “I think it’s just the 75th floor and higher that’s affected, I’m gonna keep going up and getting people out of here.”

Soon after, the whole tower collapsed.

How was anyone to know the full gravity? There were 2,977 deaths recorded that day, and one-third of those remain unidentified … but a lot of things were born on that day too — like all of the ordinary people that became extraordinary by their actions.

Let’s start with the passengers and crew on Flight 93 who bravely fought back against the hijackers, preventing the plane from reaching its intended target. Then there were the many boat captains who evacuated an estimated 500,000 lives.

A reuniting was born that fateful day. Americans were united like never before. We didn’t care about our differences, we only banded together in fervent displays of unconditional love for our fellow humans. No questions asked. No judgments.

I left New York City reeling in excitement from all of the fun experiences. I also left feeling more grateful and blessed than ever to live in this country — where I have lived peacefully from literal sea to shining sea.

Along with making new friends with other widows, it was also amazing reflecting back on our history and remembering that, when it counts, we Americans will stand up for one another.

We may fight (a lot) in the backyard, but we will stand up for each other in the front yard.

So thank you New York City. I needed those beautiful reminders of the bravery, unity and liberty we still have in America … and I do appreciate you so much more now at age 46 than I ever would have at age 18.

I wasn’t late getting there. I arrived exactly at the time I was meant to!

Jessica Varney is a single mom who lives in Mariposa County and is cofounder of the local group Widows/Widowers in Need (W.I.N.). She is also a lover of everything about life — and chocolate. She can be reached at jlajoie79@sbcglobal.net.