9/11

[Daniel]

I slept in this morning, missing the exact time when two planes flew into the Twin Towers eight years ago. It's raining here in NYC, so unlike that day when it was sunny and glorious.

In the weeks and months afterwards that fateful day, I would look up startled when I heard the sound of a plane passing overhead. "How dare they fly over the City!" I would scream inside myself. But I eventually got used to it.

People are adaptable. They go on, looking forward to big things and small things; birthdays, marriages, parties in the Park, breakfast with tea and oranges.

But today- we pause to remember and reflect.

[dsdrane]

I was walking west up Fulton Street after voting in the primary when the first plane hit. I only heard the crash first because the view of the towers was obscured until I went a few steps farther. I -- and everyone else near me -- just stood in disbelief. That gaping orange-red hole, spewing smoke was only comprehensible a few seconds later because my first job in the City had been up there. That's when the first wave of horror hit me. Then I noticed the million little white flecks, like glittering confetti, flying around. It was office paper. It and the smoke were headed straight over my apartment 4 blocks east on John Street, and I immediately remembered my dog was there with the window open. I had left it open a crack that day because the weather was so pristine.

Reading The Huffington Post (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/steve-rosenbaum/ive-got-my-911-story-what_b_282375.html) this morning, I saw a link to the National September 11 Memorial & Museum website (http://makehistory.national911memorial.org/), where they are actively collecting stories from people about that day. The above is a beginning of my first attempt at writing down something I've related over the years to so many people. Perhaps others here will have stories they can share, as well.

[antiochian]

that we're almost to the 10-year mark of this sad event. I woke up that morning to see my mom sitting in front of the TV, and those horrible pictures of the towers smoking were so surreal. When I went to work that afternoon at a job I'd just started at a nursing home, I saw the scenes replaying on residents' TV screens.

I remember the talk about an imminent war which would involve a draft, and of course the Anthrax deaths. There was so much fear in those days. People were in such shock and sorrow, and I recall how religious communities and leaders stepped forward to express their emotions and prayers.

As much as I later came to detest President Bush, I thought he handled things well at that time. For one day in American history, people of practically every religious and political persuasion and walk of life came together in their grief and anger.

I had the privilege of viewing these things from the safety of a TV screen. I can't imagine what those of you who lived near the places of attack went through. I can't imagine the pain of those whose loved ones perished that day because a group of human beings could have such hatred.

Peaceful wishes to the souls who succumbed to the violence of that day.

[Jennifer5]

Every year on this day I take time to say those prayers for all of those who lost loved ones in the 2001 attack. I too was privileged to only experience the 9/11 through the safety of the news. I cannot imagine how painful this day must be for thousands who lost the ones they love. My heart does out to you. :love: :dove:

996

[dsdrane]

It still amazes me that I didn't know anyone -- myself, personally -- who died in the attacks that day. I had "2nd degree of separation" knowledge of people, but even that was minimal. By the time the attacks happened, I had long since moved out of any field that would have largely used those towers as a base of operations (legal, financial, governmental). So, it should be noted that whatever pain I felt that day -- or feel from that day -- stands in stark contrast to those who lost friends and family that day.

That said, The Twins -- as a friend of mine who lived directly under them (and who lost just about everything except his life that day) called the Twin Towers -- were what I liked to call the prow of my S.S. Manhattan. It was like a compass point...the North Star. This is what I saw everyday, looking downtown on Sixth Avenue from Waverly Place (in the West Village). Many times, it helped me navigate in SoHo and TriBeCa before I became better acquainted with the streets in those neighborhoods. Riding in a cab in my first year in NYC, my cabbie called The Twins the boxes the Empire State and the Chrysler buildings came in.

Cute.

At the end of the day, it was empathy that had me looking up psychiatrists in the weeks that followed. Despite flying since I was little, I was, by then, a confirmed nervous flyer. Xanax and some booze were always required. (Still are.) Imagining myself on that plane was enough to put me off from flying forever. The other, more upsetting thought, came from having worked in Tower One as a legal assistant my first year out of college for the white-shoe firm Brown & Wood. The offices spread across something like the 57-59th floors...but many of us were ensconced in some extra space leased on the 53rd floor. This meant, usually, using the fire stairs to travel up and down, rather than wait for the local elevators (as opposed to the express elevators that only took you to a couple of "sky lobbies", from where local elevators took you the rest of the way).

In short, I know the floor plans; I know the fire stairs; I know the view from those skinny windows; I know the elevator lobbies. On top of that, some sort of transformer blew in late 1989 or early 1990 (when I was there) and we were required to take the fire stairs down to evacuate the building as a precaution. All said, when I looked up at that many-storied hell-hole from Fulton Street in the side of the tower seconds after the first plane hit, every single one of those memories flooded my head and I immediately put myself up there in the middle of it.

The nightmares came later, days after I was back in my apartment (that took 8 days).

Anyway, let's just say it was a scar in my bark. It wasn't anything like some other, way more horrible scars out there, but it was a scar nonetheless. I jokingly imagine myself in the men's room when the plane plows through. How's that for an image? Truly caught with one's pants down. Then there were those who found themselves in a situation where throwing themselves off the building was preferable to staying. WOW. I cannot -- but kind of can -- imagine the thought process that results in a decision like that. It's not a place any of us ever hopes to be.

So, it hurts. Fortunately for me -- unlike so many others -- I don't have these thoughts daily, or even monthly, anymore. Time has helped. So did (for me) eventually leaving NYC. I finally left over 4 years later for a number of reasons, but I'd be lying if I said 9/11 didn't play a central part in the decision. NYC wasn't the same afterwards...for anyone; but, for me, I found the things that didn't bother me as a younger person were now intolerable. Maybe that would have happened anyway...who's to say? But I was done. I went to South Florida, and now I'm in the northern Chicago suburbs. It would be easy to say I escaped. But I didn't; I just relive the experience from elsewhere now. What I did do is make a positive change...for me. It does not, cannot, translate to anyone else.

[Jennifer5]

It still amazes me that I didn't know anyone -- myself, personally -- who died in the attacks that day. I had "2nd degree of separation" knowledge of people, but even that was minimal. By the time the attacks happened, I had long since moved out of any field that would have largely used those towers as a base of operations (legal, financial, governmental). So, it should be noted that whatever pain I felt that day -- or feel from that day -- stands in stark contrast to those who lost friends and family that day.

That said, The Twins -- as a friend of mine who lived directly under them (and who lost just about everything except his life that day) called the Twin Towers -- were what I liked to call the prow of my S.S. Manhattan. It was like a compass point...the North Star. This is what I saw everyday, looking downtown on Sixth Avenue from Waverly Place (in the West Village). Many times, it helped me navigate in SoHo and TriBeCa before I became better acquainted with the streets in those neighborhoods. Riding in a cab in my first year in NYC, my cabbie called The Twins the boxes the Empire State and the Chrysler buildings came in.

Cute.

At the end of the day, it was empathy that had me looking up psychiatrists in the weeks that followed. Despite flying since I was little, I was, by then, a confirmed nervous flyer. Xanax and some booze were always required. (Still are.) Imagining myself on that plane was enough to put me off from flying forever. The other, more upsetting thought, came from having worked in Tower One as a legal assistant my first year out of college for the white-shoe firm Brown & Wood. The offices spread across something like the 57-59th floors...but many of us were ensconced in some extra space leased on the 53rd floor. This meant, usually, using the fire stairs to travel up and down, rather than wait for the local elevators (as opposed to the express elevators that only took you to a couple of "sky lobbies", from where local elevators took you the rest of the way).

In short, I know the floor plans; I know the fire stairs; I know the view from those skinny windows; I know the elevator lobbies. On top of that, some sort of transformer blew in late 1989 or early 1990 (when I was there) and we were required to take the fire stairs down to evacuate the building as a precaution. All said, when I looked up at that many-storied hell-hole from Fulton Street in the side of the tower seconds after the first plane hit, every single one of those memories flooded my head and I immediately put myself up there in the middle of it.

The nightmares came later, days after I was back in my apartment (that took 8 days).

Anyway, let's just say it was a scar in my bark. It wasn't anything like some other, way more horrible scars out there, but it was a scar nonetheless. I jokingly imagine myself in the men's room when the plane plows through. How's that for an image? Truly caught with one's pants down. Then there were those who found themselves in a situation where throwing themselves off the building was preferable to staying. WOW. I cannot -- but kind of can -- imagine the thought process that results in a decision like that. It's not a place any of us ever hopes to be.

So, it hurts. Fortunately for me -- unlike so many others -- I don't have these thoughts daily, or even monthly, anymore. Time has helped. So did (for me) eventually leaving NYC. I finally left over 4 years later for a number of reasons, but I'd be lying if I said 9/11 didn't play a central part in the decision. NYC wasn't the same afterwards...for anyone; but, for me, I found the things that didn't bother me as a younger person were now intolerable. Maybe that would have happened anyway...who's to say? But I was done. I went to South Florida, and now I'm in the northern Chicago suburbs. It would be easy to say I escaped. But I didn't; I just relive the experience from elsewhere now. What I did do is make a positive change...for me. It does not, cannot, translate to anyone else.
Well written, it's amazing how the mind works and how much such an event can affect us even when we were not directly involved. I'm sorry that it was such a painful experience for you. :o

[dsdrane]

Thanks, Jennifer. I really don't want to be overly-dramatic. Many suffered way more than I. Worlds more. I'm just trying to tell my particular story. But it's still a story I have. So I tell it. It's only one of thousands. Unfortunately.

[Jennifer5]

Thanks, Jennifer. I really don't want to be overly-dramatic. Many suffered way more than I. Worlds more. I'm just trying to tell my particular story. But it's still a story I have. So I tell it. It's only one of thousands. Unfortunately.

You don't sound over-dramatic at all to me. All pain is real, it's not less, I think it's just a different kind of pain. (((hugs)))

[Gennee]

Hard to believe that it's been eight years. God had his hand on me that day because I was supposed to be in the first tower that was hit at precisely the same time. I was delayed because I need some equipment from my shop. Eight years earlier in the first attack I was to have been the towers that day also but decided to stay home.

I remember many who lost loved ones, friends, and coworkers. Four members of my church perished in the attacks. For some people the wounds are still fresh. I never dreamed that I would see something like that. I pray that it won't happen again.

Gennee