My 9.11

I was 27 years old. Living in a small 2-bedroom apartment with my roommate Geskie (Jen) right above a pizza parlor. Our apartment was hot, smelled like garlic and completely furnished by Ikea. We lived on 1^st Ave between 66^th and 67^th street. Our doormen were the pizza guys, and we kept our soap in the fridge so it didn’t melt (yes, it was that hot).

I was a marketing manager for a magazine called Incentive and I worked right below 14^th street at Astor Place.  On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was supposed to fly to Chicago for a seminar I was organizing. I flew to Chicago a lot for work, and I always took the same 9am flight out of LaGuardia, but for some reason this time I booked a later one.

There are no coincidences.

Now I’m not one to watch the news or listen to the radio in the morning so when I hopped in the cab with my suitcase and told the cabbie “LaGuardia” he looked at me funny. He said, “There are no planes leaving the airport. They have grounded all the flights.”

Perplexed I asked, “Why?”

“A small plane hit the World Trade Center”

I got out of the cab in a daze and slowly started to walk towards my apartment. A plane hit the Trade Center?  What?

Then it hit me…my Dad works in the Trade Center.

I completely lost my breath and ran up the stairs to my apartment.

I ran over to the phone and tried to call my mom on Long Island. Busy. I couldn’t get a line out.

Over and over again I tried.

While cell phones existed back then…we still relied mostly on land lines. And they were all blocked up with people calling their loved ones.

I finally got through. She had been trying to reach me worried I had been on a plane.

She said Dad was ok- he was at the building next to the towers. He normally worked on the 86^th floor of the North Tower but due to a staff meeting at 9:15 he decided against going up to his office and stayed behind.

Those quick meaningless decisions that change the course of your life.

There are no coincidences.

My mom said she hadn’t been able get through to my Dad again and we resolved to both keep trying his cell phone.

I sat alone in my apartment watching the news. At this point the second plane had hit. Two gaping holes in the towers. I couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly I saw what seemed like an explosion next to the towers and I panicked. I grabbed my keys and ran across the street to a catholic church.

Now I had lived in that apartment for a few years and never went inside this small, beautiful church. But I ran in that morning crying and prayed before a statue of Mary…begging her to spare my father. I’d never been so scared in my life.

When I got back to my apartment one of the towers was gone. It was a surreal sight…almost like I didn’t trust what I was seeing. I thought I was losing my mind.

And then before my very eyes I watched the second tower come down.

Sitting alone in my hot apartment crying I thought the world was ending. I felt for sure my father was dead.

I kept trying to call his cell phone. Kept trying to call my mom. It was impossible to get a line out.

I finally did get through to my Mom but no word from my Dad.

For almost 2 hours I sat alone in panic and worry. Randomly, calls would get though from friends checking to see if I was ok.  But no word from Dad.

And then I felt a calmness come over me…like I knew he was alright.

My Mom called and said my Dad made it to Brooklyn. He was able to get a ferry out of lower Manhattan.

Thank God.

At this point my roommate came home from the school she was a teacher at a few blocks away. And my two dear friends, Irena & Jackie, who both worked in Manhattan but lived on Long Island showed up at our door. They came to the only safe haven they knew in a city that was literally falling apart…our small hot apartment that smelled like garlic.  

All trains out of the city were shut down…no one could leave.

We all sat together in disbelief. Crying. Grateful to be together in this chaotic, horrific and terrifying reality.

Our sense of safety was gone.

Our sense of innocence was gone.

Everything felt completely out of control. The world was suddenly an evil place and I never felt that sense of fear before. Or doom.

We had to get away from the news for a bit ...stepping outside on that beautiful September day you could smell the smoke all the way up at 67^th street.

And you could see it…a black plume.

We walked to the park on the corner with a pizza in tow. We didn’t even talk that much…just sat is disbelief wondering what was to come next.

They finally opened the trains back up that evening and Irena and Jackie could go home to their worried families.

The days and weeks that followed in New York were like nothing I ever experienced. There were memorials everywhere- street corners, ATM machines, phone booths. Roses, crosses, little notes.

And there were missing persons signs all over. Pictures of sons, moms, daughters, husbands, wives…Please call if you see this person. Penn Station and Grand Central had huge posterboards with hundreds of them.

You knew they were all gone. And your heart broke every single time.

The days after 9.11 were also filled with ongoing bomb threats, subway scares…don’t drink the water- it’s been contaminated. It was horrific. A clap of thunder one night sent me rushing out of bed in hysterics…thinking it was a bomb.

And the stories…the phone calls from planes. It was all consuming. It was like you couldn’t get away from it…it was everywhere.

Yet…as hard as those days were after 9.11 in New York there was also this bond. This strong sense of community in a city that could often be harsh and unforgiving. We had all been through something together. People smiled at you on the subway. Let you go first on the grocery line. Gave you a knowing look. We are ok. We are survivors. This city will live on.

New York is part of my heart and soul.  Living in that city on 9.11 was one of the greatest privileges of my life. Every year I read my journal entry from that day and remember.

Remember the people that were lost.

Remember the people that were saved…like my Dad.

And remember how even the most tragic, awful events also bring out a beautiful side of humanity we don’t always see or feel.  The power of unity.

So that’s my 9.11 story. My memories always bring tears, even today.  It’s just part of me.

Thank you for listening.

I love you New York…now and always.

Geskie, Jackie, Irena and I visited the 9/11 Memorial and Musuem together in 2016, 15 years later.