9/11/2011- I am watching the 9/11 memorial on TV. For the past ten years, I have done this every single time, and worn black, pinned up a flag, and mourned the day. The World Trade Center flag which was just another flag atop a building is now a piece of a significant event, and used in the memorial. I remember the exact day in 2001, every single minute of it. Tears well up in my eyes, as I remember the fear, pain, shock, panic, people who were not fortunate enough to leave without any major physical impact, and most importantly the many lives that were lost. 9/11 did leave a mental scar in me that will stay forever.
I was 11 weeks pregnant with my first child, and it was a hot September morning, a Tuesday. I worked in downtown Manhattan, a few blocks away from the twin towers. Just a few days earlier, we had moved to a suburban NJ house with the impending expansion in the family, and I was taking the ferry instead of the PATH train that goes to the WTC. 27th of August, to be precise. (I have another reason to remember the 27th of August, but that is irrelevant here). I was walking towards my building as my ferry landed at 8.40, and since I was in my first trimester weirdness of feeling hungry and queasy at the same time, I picked up a big breakfast just in case. As I went up to the 44th floor of my building, into my office, and looked outside my window, I was faced with a black sky and debri flying everywhere. As I was wondering if the yankees had won another game and this was a ticker-tape parade, but still couldn’t explain the darkness, a colleague of mine walked in and said, “a plane has hit the WTC”. It was just a few minutes after 8.46, when the plane hit the first tower. We all concluded it was an amateur pilot who had gotten the tower, although there were still questions around how the plane got into a restricted air space that too so low?
Through the heated discussion, we all heard another big boom (to this date, I still don’t know how I missed the first one). Our building shook so violently I thought it has been hit. It also hit all of us at the exact same moment that this is not an accident. My instincts took over, and I remember starting to shake all over, holding on to a colleague’s hand and asking him to take me down right away and that I was pregnant. Every single person on the floor started walking towards the elevators and thankfully we were still able to take it down instead of the stairs (another decision that was questionable later on).
I was panicking even more as someone mentioned the second plane during the ride down the elevators. This was the second hit at 9.03. My mind was concluding that all tall buildings were being attacked by terrorists and mine was next. I was also torn between helping the ones that may need help, vs. saving my baby and myself. The maternal instincts won out, and I think that’s what made me single-mindedly look for the father of my children (who also worked a few blocks away) and plan my leaving the island. Luckily I ran into him in a few minutes, which was a miracle given the mob of people in the streets of downtown that day. I remember the heat of the day as I was waiting for my ferry back, in my black suit jacket, and the anxiety I was feeling as there was a big line of people waiting to get out as well. The boat finally arrived, and they boarded all of us. It was the ‘usual’ 10am run, and as the boat was pulling away from the pier, the first tower started to collapse in plain sight.
It was horror like nothing I’ve felt before. What was considered an impact to a few floors had now turned into a building collapse of the tallest building in NY. All the firemen who were trying to save lives, all the curious onlookers who were too close lost their lives. The rest of the people in the boat were screaming, crying and panicking. I was in a state of shock and couldn’t feel any emotions anymore. It felt like a scene straight from a horror movie, with a plume of smoke not unlike a nuclear detonation, happening not too far away. The only other thought in my head was if the boat had not left yet, I would’ve had to inhale all that and wondered what it would’ve done to my 11 weeks pregnancy.
I had severe nightmares for several months following the event. I did eventually go back to work after taking a couple of weeks off, and the stench of death in downtown still lingers in my memory. Many stories emerged over the days and weeks after that. From a close friend who worked on the 92nd floor of tower 2 (she was the first one I called), who had a narrow escape, to people to who lost their loved ones, to entire firms being wiped out (Cantor Fitzgerald),. Stories of people who jumped out of the high floors choosing death that way instead of burning at 5000F from aviation fuel, people who resigned the next day only to get married the week after to their partner. People who left NY to move to the west coast to take a job that paid less than half their wall street careers, people who chose to leave the country altogether (which became a reality for me only 5 years later, which I still believe was triggered by 9/11).
I witnessed for the first time in my life, the low point of humanness. That we are capable of such horror and causing damage to each other at stunning proportions. My innocence was lost. It was a biased experience, as this kind of carnage had been happening all over the world previously, and I was shielded from it all along. But this was too close to home, too real. My daughter asks me why I am crying as I am watching the names being called on TV, and I tell her - “These are people just like me, who went to work in Manhattan. They were simply in the wrong building that day and so lost their chance to live”.
All the mothers, fathers, spouses, grandfathers, grandmothers, uncles, aunts and children who were working hard to provide for their family, never went back home that day. High powered executives to janitors, firefighters who were there to save another’s life, they all lost their chance to live. Many moments missed, memories unbuilt, words unspoken, love not shared.
My life has taken many unexpected turns in the last decade, some good and some not so desirable, and I find myself back in NY after 10 years, also quite unexpectedly. My pain will always stay with me, as for every 9/11 I relive the day and how it has changed me as a person forever. But instead of ripping our country apart, I see it has actually brought people closer (Putting the racial backlash that followed the incident aside). As I move into this new city, I find the innocence of a working middle-class intact. People who are helpful, welcoming, staying happy and together despite huge imperfections in their lives. They give me hope. Hope about humanity and goodness and love.
9/11 has taught me so much in the few years following, and since then there have been a few major incidents in my life which have further crushed my hope in human goodness, but I will never give up. Because I know there have also been many good people in my life, people who will stay, and I will meet many more. My goal of giving others around me abundant love and compassion, and helping to make a difference will never go away. I will carry this compassion forward, no matter what life throws at me, as I still have the gift of life. After all, I still walked out alive to tell the story.
I was 11 weeks pregnant with my first child, and it was a hot September morning, a Tuesday. I worked in downtown Manhattan, a few blocks away from the twin towers. Just a few days earlier, we had moved to a suburban NJ house with the impending expansion in the family, and I was taking the ferry instead of the PATH train that goes to the WTC. 27th of August, to be precise. (I have another reason to remember the 27th of August, but that is irrelevant here). I was walking towards my building as my ferry landed at 8.40, and since I was in my first trimester weirdness of feeling hungry and queasy at the same time, I picked up a big breakfast just in case. As I went up to the 44th floor of my building, into my office, and looked outside my window, I was faced with a black sky and debri flying everywhere. As I was wondering if the yankees had won another game and this was a ticker-tape parade, but still couldn’t explain the darkness, a colleague of mine walked in and said, “a plane has hit the WTC”. It was just a few minutes after 8.46, when the plane hit the first tower. We all concluded it was an amateur pilot who had gotten the tower, although there were still questions around how the plane got into a restricted air space that too so low?
Through the heated discussion, we all heard another big boom (to this date, I still don’t know how I missed the first one). Our building shook so violently I thought it has been hit. It also hit all of us at the exact same moment that this is not an accident. My instincts took over, and I remember starting to shake all over, holding on to a colleague’s hand and asking him to take me down right away and that I was pregnant. Every single person on the floor started walking towards the elevators and thankfully we were still able to take it down instead of the stairs (another decision that was questionable later on).
I was panicking even more as someone mentioned the second plane during the ride down the elevators. This was the second hit at 9.03. My mind was concluding that all tall buildings were being attacked by terrorists and mine was next. I was also torn between helping the ones that may need help, vs. saving my baby and myself. The maternal instincts won out, and I think that’s what made me single-mindedly look for the father of my children (who also worked a few blocks away) and plan my leaving the island. Luckily I ran into him in a few minutes, which was a miracle given the mob of people in the streets of downtown that day. I remember the heat of the day as I was waiting for my ferry back, in my black suit jacket, and the anxiety I was feeling as there was a big line of people waiting to get out as well. The boat finally arrived, and they boarded all of us. It was the ‘usual’ 10am run, and as the boat was pulling away from the pier, the first tower started to collapse in plain sight.
It was horror like nothing I’ve felt before. What was considered an impact to a few floors had now turned into a building collapse of the tallest building in NY. All the firemen who were trying to save lives, all the curious onlookers who were too close lost their lives. The rest of the people in the boat were screaming, crying and panicking. I was in a state of shock and couldn’t feel any emotions anymore. It felt like a scene straight from a horror movie, with a plume of smoke not unlike a nuclear detonation, happening not too far away. The only other thought in my head was if the boat had not left yet, I would’ve had to inhale all that and wondered what it would’ve done to my 11 weeks pregnancy.
I had severe nightmares for several months following the event. I did eventually go back to work after taking a couple of weeks off, and the stench of death in downtown still lingers in my memory. Many stories emerged over the days and weeks after that. From a close friend who worked on the 92nd floor of tower 2 (she was the first one I called), who had a narrow escape, to people to who lost their loved ones, to entire firms being wiped out (Cantor Fitzgerald),. Stories of people who jumped out of the high floors choosing death that way instead of burning at 5000F from aviation fuel, people who resigned the next day only to get married the week after to their partner. People who left NY to move to the west coast to take a job that paid less than half their wall street careers, people who chose to leave the country altogether (which became a reality for me only 5 years later, which I still believe was triggered by 9/11).
I witnessed for the first time in my life, the low point of humanness. That we are capable of such horror and causing damage to each other at stunning proportions. My innocence was lost. It was a biased experience, as this kind of carnage had been happening all over the world previously, and I was shielded from it all along. But this was too close to home, too real. My daughter asks me why I am crying as I am watching the names being called on TV, and I tell her - “These are people just like me, who went to work in Manhattan. They were simply in the wrong building that day and so lost their chance to live”.
All the mothers, fathers, spouses, grandfathers, grandmothers, uncles, aunts and children who were working hard to provide for their family, never went back home that day. High powered executives to janitors, firefighters who were there to save another’s life, they all lost their chance to live. Many moments missed, memories unbuilt, words unspoken, love not shared.
My life has taken many unexpected turns in the last decade, some good and some not so desirable, and I find myself back in NY after 10 years, also quite unexpectedly. My pain will always stay with me, as for every 9/11 I relive the day and how it has changed me as a person forever. But instead of ripping our country apart, I see it has actually brought people closer (Putting the racial backlash that followed the incident aside). As I move into this new city, I find the innocence of a working middle-class intact. People who are helpful, welcoming, staying happy and together despite huge imperfections in their lives. They give me hope. Hope about humanity and goodness and love.
9/11 has taught me so much in the few years following, and since then there have been a few major incidents in my life which have further crushed my hope in human goodness, but I will never give up. Because I know there have also been many good people in my life, people who will stay, and I will meet many more. My goal of giving others around me abundant love and compassion, and helping to make a difference will never go away. I will carry this compassion forward, no matter what life throws at me, as I still have the gift of life. After all, I still walked out alive to tell the story.
