All stories of 9/11 are personal. I have published bits and pieces of this over the last 15 years, and this is the one that I am now able to tell in its entirety. I remember friends leaving NY shortly afterwards. Fear was too great for them to bear. I dug in my heals and said no one is going to make me leave until I decide to leave. I did move after getting married almost 9 years ago. I have not been back to ground zero since I left NYC and the building of the memorial. I have been back to NYC for work and fun, but I have not been able to go downtown. I think I am now ready to pay my respects at the site.
Here is my story:
I was only one step away from personal tragedy. I was asked to work a consulting project in the north tower on that day. I was unavailable for the two-day assignment. I offered to work one day and share the work with a colleague. They said it should be the same person for both Tuesday and Wednesday. The person who was assigned to the 2-day project died on that day. He was from Philly and was working in an internal conference room on the 70-something floor of the north tower. I didn’t find out until a few weeks after the tragedy. That is all I ever knew about him. It was his time, not mine. That is all, but it felt so much more than that.
On the morning of September 11, 2001 I was sitting in my apartment on the Upper West Side (UWS) of NYC. It was about 8:45 in the morning, and I got a call from my dad in Boca. I picked up the phone and he started to cry. At that moment, I didn’t know why he was crying. He said, “I’m so glad you are home. Turn on the television, NY is under attack”. I turned on the TV and saw the fire and smoke ravaging the first tower. I said no, this can’t be. It’s an accident. I was so sure. Moments, later the second plane deliberately hit and I knew, as we all did.
The rest of day was spent clued to the TV, calling family, friends and colleagues to make sure everyone was safe. It was hard to get through as the circuits were overloaded. It was horrible. I was scared.
I had a doctor’s appointment near my apartment later in the afternoon. I don’t know why I didn’t cancel the appointment; I guess I needed a distraction from the horror. I remember walking, as there was no mass transit, and being in the company of 1000’s of people in the streets trying to get somewhere other than downtown. The TV was on in my doctor’s office and we all were in shock. I had my visit, and left to walk back to my apt.
Many of the stores were closed or were closing early. All bridges, tunnels and transportation in and out of Manhattan were closed. Everything stopped. We were truly an island unto ourselves. Within a few days, the awful smell made its way uptown, not as severe but certainly noticeable.
Stores were closed the next day, and some for days afterwards. I remember walking in my neighborhood and talking with strangers. All of us trying to find the smallest bit of comfort and connection.
Over the next few days, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I felt terribly anxious and upset. I lit a memorial candle. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I decided I needed to do something to help.
I volunteered a few days after the attacks to serve the rescue workers on a boat stationed at the docks of the World Financial Center. I boarded a small motorboat by Chelsea Piers and went downtown. I was scared. I didn’t know what I would find. I had to do it anyway.
I spent hours serving food to the rescue workers on the boat and thanking them for their service. They were working on the pit unaware of the long-term affects of being there. To this day, I remember the smell, the smell of death and destruction. The smell made me nauseous and sick to my stomach. I am sure the rescue workers felt the same, and they continued to do the work on the pit.
At one point, I was asked to stop serving food and go mop the ship’s kitchen floor. I guess we all have to help in any way we can. I remember being yelled at by one of the cooks in the ship’s kitchen, for not mopping the floor properly or fast enough. Having mopped ½ the kitchen floor, I had stopped for a few moments to talk with some of the heroes of the day and to pay my respects for the work they were doing. This cook noticed I had stopped mopping, and started screaming at me at the top of her lungs. I stopped talking, finished my mopping duties, left the kitchen, and went back to serving food. All of us were doing the best we could. I didn’t yell back (though I wanted to). I never went back into that kitchen. It was a hard day, a hard day for everyone.
I left to go home in the evening. I took the small boat back to Chelsea Pier and there was a lone bus to take the volunteers home. We were all in shock. We were all scared. I remember crying myself to sleep that night.
For weeks afterwards, I volunteered wherever I could. I felt helpless and a bit hopeless, and volunteering was the only thing I could think of doing with time. When I wasn’t volunteering I would go to the West Side Highway and stand with 100’0s of other NYers applauding the rescue workers as they went down to the pit to work and when they would return after their shifts.
I volunteered with an organization trying to rebuild the businesses that were most effected. I made phone calls, comforted the business owners and help create a framework for the rebuilding of the downtown business community. I remember every time I went downtown, the smell and the sight of the wreckage sickened me. I kept going to help. I had to or else I was going to go crazy worrying.
I volunteered with my temple and made sandwiches for the rescue workers. I created a self-help group through my temple in my apartment for those looking for work afterwards. I too lost my consulting assignment and was unemployed, but at that moment I didn’t care. The only way I knew to overcome my grief and anxiety was to be of service. It still was not enough to make me feel better.
Weeks and months after 9/11, I was still experiencing the aftermath. I had what my therapist diagnosed as situational agoraphobia. I was afraid to go outside, afraid to ride the subway, afraid of well, everything and everyone. It took a lot of courage, determination, therapy and the love of family and friends to get me through. I remember riding the subway with headphones on listening to meditative music and trying with all my strength not to hyperventilate and pass out. Eventually I was able to move on, though not forgetting.
One of the long term effects, for me was not being able to photograph. I had loved photography and for reasons I can’t explain I have not been able to take photos using a camera. I used to photograph all the time. I loved detail work, taking pictures of flowers using a macro lense. After 9/11, the desire abruptly stopped. Now 15 years later, I am looking forward to buying a camera and taking photographs again.
You can say I was lucky. I didn’t work in the north tower that day. I am reminded of that on most days because I am not done yet.
Never ever forget.
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