Surviving and Remembering 9/11

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was a heading to work in the Washington D.C. Metro area as a young public relations executive.  As I cruised down Leesburg Pike in Northern Virginia, I heard on the radio the devastating news that a plane had hit the World Trade Center Twin Towers. 

I was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. The rooftop of the home where I grew up had a beautiful view of the Manhattan New York skyline, which included the Twin Towers. For many years, my mother worked in the World Trade Center Towers.  As was part of daily life for many New Yorkers, our family shopped and dined within the multitude of department stores and restaurants at the World Trade Center.  My siblings and I had all worked in the Twin Towers at one time as well. The Twin Towers were more than just a pair of buildings for my family; it was a part of our lives.

Words can not really describe hearing for the first time that a plane had crashed into the Twin Towers. I remember feeling a tightness in my chest and then my cell phone ringing. It was my mother calling to tell me about the plane crash into the Twin Towers and that she hadn’t heard from my father. My father worked in South Tower on the 19th floor; the same offices where I had worked with him as a teen during the summers.  I told my mother not to worry that I was heading to see her, I made an illegal U-turn, and sped to my parent’s Virginia condominium.

My father wakes up everyday at 5AM and goes to work. For the past 42+ years, he had been a union international delegate and executive that rarely missed a day of work. His office had been located in the Twin Towers for the past decade and we knew he would already be at work before 8AM.  As I was racing to be at my mother’s side, I remembered another World Trade Center incident, the 1993 WTC bombing.

I was in middle school when the WTC bombing occurred. It was after school when one of my father’s friends called to say, “…don’t worry but there was a bombing at the World Trade Center and your father is in the building…” I remember feeling so scared and crying until I heard my father whistling up the pathway to our home.  He usually whistled or called out my name to announce his arrival and I was more overjoyed than usual to hear the sound knowing that meant he was safe.  However, listening to the radio that morning of 9/11, the unknown panic was starting to make me sick to my stomach.

When I arrived at my parent’s condo, my mother had already a number of calls from family members and friends of my father that were spread all over the country. Everyone knew he worked in the Twin Towers and wanted to know if he was ok. My mother had no answer from them–the phone lines into New York were either busy or getting no connection signal. We knew he was in the building because he was always at work before 8AM but we did not know if he was alright. As the time passed, more phone calls came, my sister, aunts, and other family members arrived to be with my mother to offer prayer and support.  We turned on the television to get more information about was happening in New York and the images were disturbing. Our home city was in total chaos with death and destruction engulfing everyone.

I could not bring myself to cry even though the gut-wrenching thought that something horrible had happened to my father was in the forefront of my mind. I wanted to be strong for my mother and in my mind I thought if the tears started to flow it was resigning to the fact that I would never see my father alive again. As I watched in horror what was happening in New York and the precautions the federal government were starting to initiate, we heard a loud rumbling outside the condo.  My mother was in disbelief that repair crews were working on the exterior of the condominium when there was such mass hysteria going on.  I angrily opened the door to the balcony preparing to yell at the repair crew to stop their loud banging at such a terrible time when I saw there was no repair crew working.  The loud rumble came from a large airplane that was flying dangerously low and close to the top of the condominium.  Only later on did we learn, the plane I saw was the plane that crashed into the Pentagon, 10 minutes away from the condominium.

Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours without any news on the whereabouts of my father. My cousin, who lived in Queens, was trying to get to my parent’s Brooklyn home to check in on my father. Streets and highways were either closed by the city or were in traffic deadlock. The city that never sleeps was at a standstill with confusion everywhere. We were glued to the T.V. and searching for my father’s face in the crowds of displaced New Yorkers now with dirt and ash covering their entire bodies. Watching the once majestic Twin Towers crumble like a pile of garbage, I felt as if my body was shutting down. It was like watching a family member die right before my very own eyes and there was nothing I could do to help them.  We often broke into prayer together as a family for the safety of my father and for all those affected.

There was a massive exodus of ash covered people leaving Manhattan and walking across the bridges to get to Brooklyn and Queens.  It didn’t seem like it could possibly be happening to the United States; it felt like I was watching the survivors of a war torn third world country.  That day, the U.S. had been viciously attacked and my father was in the middle of the war. 

Over 8 hours passed, when we finally heard about my father after my cousin was finally able to reach him. He was in his office on the 19th floor in the South Twin Tower, when he and those in his office heard the loud crash of the plane hitting the North Twin Tower.  New York is a bustling city with frequent noises coming from cars, buses, taxis, emergency vehicles, and the thousands of New York City inhabitants.  The noise of the plane crashing did not initially set off panic from those in my father’s office.  They did not realize it was a plane that crashed into the North Tower with loud noises being such a recurring occurrence.  However, my father intuitively felt something was wrong.  He told his co-workers and secretaries that they should leave the building.  My father was persistent that they all leave the office and reports were starting to come on the radio about a plane crash at the World Trade Center. There was a lot of confusion and panic among those in the office about what was happening outside.  Some of these people in the office were present for the 1993 World Trade Center bombing and had those memories in their minds.  The secretaries were worried and thought they should stay in the building.  As they were deciding what to do, another plane hit the South Tower–their building. 

My father’s persistence managed to convince those around him to leave the office. As they were walking out and heading toward the stairs, the lights went out and the emergency lights came on.  Office personnel were walking down the stairs in the dark with only the emergency lights dimly illuminating their path.  People were holding on to my father and others were holding hands to make it down the many flights of stairs. 

A poignant memory is the brave New York Firemen and Policemen knowingly risking their lives as they were climbing up the stairs of the Twin Towers while everyone is trying to get out of the burning
Towers. Within minutes of my father and his co-workers  making it out of the South Twin Tower, it came crashing down to a pile of rubble.

The sheer horror of what he actually experienced and saw is something that my father still has difficulty talking about to this day. Its something that all 9/11 survivors have to deal with and is something I think that should be respected by their loved ones.

He managed to slowly cross the bridge along with thousands of others back into Brooklyn.  A walk that normally takes about 20-30 minutes took hours because of the sheer amount of people and mass confusion occurring at the same time. 

My father, a tired and broken man, arrived at the church where I was baptized as a little girl covered in dirt and ashes.  The priest came over to him moved by what he saw. A survivor of the terrible tragedy came directly to church before even going to his own home.  Lovingly, he started to wipe the dirt and ash from my father’s face with his own priestly garments.  My father solemnly listened as the priest told him how God blessed him with sparing his life, prayed, and embraced him.

As our family rejoiced and thanked the Lord for my father’s safety, we were deeply troubled and saddened for the victims of the Twin Towers, Pennsylvania, and the Pentagon.  We knew victims in the Twin Towers, especially my father, and we knew of those affected from the Pentagon crash. In one hand we were happy for our father’s life being spared, but on the other hand we were devastated with lives lost.  It was a total mixture of emotion and we all felt like we had aged years in just one day.

In all honesty, there is still anger over what happened. Anger of the lives lost in the Pentagon, in the Pennsylvania fields, the destruction of the Twin Towers, and how my own father has changed because of what occurred.  While he doesn’t like to speak about it often, he sometimes remembers aloud his office in the Twin Towers, co-workers, WTC personnel, and the general atmosphere of the World Trade Center.

He occasionally laments about what the terrorists took from him and the other victims/survivors in all three affected cities.  Its something you have to try and move on from, but you never forget. You can never forget, because forgetting means forgetting the innocent victims of the tragedies. You can’t forget how blessed you are that you were able to see your family once more when so many people were not able to see their family again after that morning of 9/11.  I’m eternally grateful to God for protecting and watching over my father in 1993 and again on 9/11. I feel blessed that our country has brave military members (like my own husband) who continue to fight for our freedoms daily and vow to never forget those who lost their lives.

My Parents

My father was featured in an NY1 News story about the reopening of a department store, Century 21, near the WTC site. (He is the second interview and is mentioned in the article.)