story10904.xml
Title
story10904.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2004-09-11
911DA Story: Story
A letter to my son written in June 2002
Dear James,
Someday in the future. Someday when I?m gone. Hopefully some peaceful day, you?ll be sitting with grandchildren at your knee, explaining that yes, you were alive on 9/11/01 and yes, you did visit the towers while their great grandma Laurie worked there. By then, there will be few people that actually lived and visited the Trade Center. The attacks will be but a distant historical event, their cruel impact fully integrated, for better or worse, into our collective memory and experience.
While it?s still a recent event, I write this letter to share with you, when you?re ready, how this global, geopolitical catastrophe affected our little family on a deeply personal and spiritual level.
Today, I wonder how you?ve assimilated the attacks into your complex little four-year-old psyche. Did you experience a personal loss? Do you remember the thrill of riding up and down the enormous, cattle car, elevators to Mommy?s office on the 103rd floor? How about the family company Christmas parties or sleeping under Mommy?s desk as a baby? Do you have any recollection of riding the trains, the subways, the spectacular escalators? It was always a happy, exciting outing for us. I loved bringing you into my office, I was so proud to show you off to my colleagues. Afterall, my coworkers at the Trade Center supported me through the stress and elation of our adoption process. By the time we returned home with you, my office friends, and even the mere acquaintances, welcomed us with a warm embrace that can only come from someone who genuinely shares in your joy. For a period of time, they were part of our extended family and our network that helped make adopting you a reality.
At a very young age, before you were even three, you could pick buildings out in the skyline ? the Empire State, the George Washington Bridge, the World Trade Center. Have you taken notice that we no longer engage in idle chat about the skyline when we?re driving within view? Do you still look for the towers on the horizon, as I do?
On that horrible Tuesday, we ? you, your Daddy, and me, were settling into a family vacation in a sunny rental house, on the beach, in Loveladies on LBI. We were within sight of the Barnegate Lighthouse. We awoke to a beautiful morning. Much to your chagrin, I pulled you away from the TV, piled you into the jogging stroller, and off we went, in search of fishing bait and a good workout. We heard the initial reports of a plane hitting the North Tower while at the local bait shop. Assuming it to be nuisance piper plane, I made a mental note to call my colleagues in the building to see how inconvenienced they were. If power had been disrupted, maybe I?d be able to persuade some to visit us at the beach on this great day.
By the time we returned to the rental house at 9:30, your Dad ran out to the deck with a panicky look yelling ?Do you know what?s going on??. The TV showed us both towers in flames and shortly after, we, and that includes you my innocent darling, witnessed the towers collapse. It was a sight that haunts me and I?m sure that you?re carrying that image with you somewhere deep inside too. What happens to a four year old who carries such an image?
As we watched the towers collapse, my imagination kept running back into the building. In my mind, I was in my tiny little corner atop the world on the 103rd floor of tower two. I could envision the floor, the faces, the stairwells, the windows, all of it crumbling, violently ripping apart, feeding that insatiable inferno of flames. I cannot articulate to you, son, the pall and the fear cast over our country that day, as we watched the devastation in New York and at the Pentagon, not knowing what would happen next or how many terrorists were laying in wait to strike again.
On 9/11/01, whatever trauma you experienced, you had to suffer it without your mother. I sobbed all day, as I tried to amass a mental list of names of friends, acquaintances and colleagues. I was awash in guilt that I wasn?t there and yet so grateful that I wasn?t. My mind overflowed with images of faces, snippets of everyday conversations, remembrances of simple kind gestures that were extended to me during my short tenure in the towers. All day, I tried to reach friends, sometimes reaching distraught family members or other colleagues, who had no more news than I. My cell phone rang constantly for the next few days with news of who was alive and who was ?still missing?. The emotions were monumental ? the utter elation of reaching a survivor was always followed by tragic news of senseless death. Survival and death, death and survival - over and over and over again. For weeks after the attacks, we euphemistically called the casualties, ?the missing? ? perhaps out of respect for families who still held on to hope for a cache of survivors tucked away in a subway tunnel. Perhaps it was that the fact the words themselves: ?dead?, ?murdered?, ?casualties? ?victims? ? conjured up images of a country at war. How could we assimilate such violence against so many friends and loved ones? For many of us, half of our friends were suddenly dead ? it gave life a sort of refugee dreamlike quality. Shock settled in.
Back on LBI, your father implored me to turn off the phone ? but how could I? Each ring held the possibility that someone else survived. Each ring rang a death toll. I grasped that phone as if it were life itself. The loss was overwhelming and profound. You were a darling; you concentrated on a computer game for just about the entire day. I know you were trying to shut out the sight of your mother in great pain. As I cried and I cried and I cried, I did my best to be honest with you. I explained that Mommy cried because she was sad to see so many of her friends hurt. I tried to assure you that we would do everything to keep you safe; but I?m sure you sensed our fear, as I secretly packed up an emergency bag of essentials to carry in our trunk. Did you find it odd that Mommy could not leave the house without first checking CNN?
There was about three months of funerals and memorials. In total I attended about 20 ceremonies. There could have been so many more, but I was getting so tired. In the office, we attended grief-counseling sessions; we cried quietly at our desks, gazing at e-mails from now dead colleagues; we remembered and shared stories and sobbed openly. We doubled up, making room in our offices for the survivors, the walking wounded, displaced from their offices at the Trade Center. We picked up files or assignments, handed on to us from the lost, telling one another that it was an honor to carry in on their memory. But, in reality, most of the time we felt the work insignificant, and the task just too sad to carry out. My entire industry was hit so hard. I don?t think it?s possible for others, outside the risk management and insurance community to fully comprehend how hard we were hit by the loss. On the heels of losing 500 colleagues (between Marsh and Aon), we had to also deal with the financial implications of assessing the damage at the scene, getting claims paid, understand the insurance markets? reaction to and future treatment of terrorist acts, while all the while attempting to help our clients assess the potential exposure presented by unknowable, unfathomable evil. Our minds, personally and professionally, were forced to try to contemplate, just how much worse it could get. Afterall, we?re in the risk management business. While experiencing a tremendous personal loss, our professional lives were quickly becoming unmanageable and our clients were needier than ever, with fewer of us to respond to them. It?s now June of 2002, and not a day goes by where we don?t talk about terrorism, the potential for more terrorism and the death of our colleagues. It?s our business and it will take a long time to heal.
On a more personal level, by now you know that your father and I were in the beginning stages of our divorce in 2002. On 9/11/01, I now recognize that we were very distant during that vacation. We found ourselves unable to comfort each other during the pain and agony of the events of 9/11/01. It?s sad that I went 20 funerals on my own. I wanted to find solace in our marriage, but it just wasn?t there. There are a lot of reasons for this, that I won?t address here. What you need to know is that the devastation of the World Trade Center attack and the dissolution of our marriage, are inextricably intertwined in my fiber. The violent collapse of the Towers became a metaphor for me, enabling me to get in touch with the enormous grief left in letting go of a fantasy for our family. My time at the World Trade Center, came to symbolize a most beautiful period in my life. On the day that I first reported into my brand new boss at the WTC (my company had been acquired), I had to tell him that I was leaving town to adopt a baby. Off we went to Missouri, to adopt you James, not knowing if I even had a job to come back to. I didn?t care. It was such an exciting, happy time in my life. I knew that my life was changing forever, I knew that my new life as a mother would be happier and more fulfilling than it had been before you. However, I envisioned us as a close nuclear little family. As the trade center was falling, I was coming to the grips with the reality that this little nuclear family wasn?t what I pretended it to be. The image of the towers falling, became a symbol for the breaking down of my hollow image of our family.
My grief, my tears, my loss was about so so many losses on so many levels. On that September day, my life was changing in many ways. It would not have been possible for me to imagine what it would look like going forward. I was contemplating, and coming to terms with, probably for the first time, that which is really important to me. Out of this period of terrible grief, I was feeling both a huge loss, but also gaining a feeling of becoming a more whole person. It?s ironic that loss and wholeness can be so connected. Just as the skyline is still standing, with a new silhouette, I am going forward, feeling wounded, a little frightened, but also more genuine and honest ? a better human being.
I pray that others will also seek honesty and wholeness in their pain, which will surely result in a better world for you and your grandchildren. I heard one clergy say during one of the many services I attended post 9/11, that if, in our grief, we could just love each other a tiny bit more, then all those lives would not have been lost in vain. God bless, you my precious son. I love you so much, and today, I will try to love you even a little bit more.
Love, Your Mommy Forever
Love, Your Mommy Forever
Dear James,
Someday in the future. Someday when I?m gone. Hopefully some peaceful day, you?ll be sitting with grandchildren at your knee, explaining that yes, you were alive on 9/11/01 and yes, you did visit the towers while their great grandma Laurie worked there. By then, there will be few people that actually lived and visited the Trade Center. The attacks will be but a distant historical event, their cruel impact fully integrated, for better or worse, into our collective memory and experience.
While it?s still a recent event, I write this letter to share with you, when you?re ready, how this global, geopolitical catastrophe affected our little family on a deeply personal and spiritual level.
Today, I wonder how you?ve assimilated the attacks into your complex little four-year-old psyche. Did you experience a personal loss? Do you remember the thrill of riding up and down the enormous, cattle car, elevators to Mommy?s office on the 103rd floor? How about the family company Christmas parties or sleeping under Mommy?s desk as a baby? Do you have any recollection of riding the trains, the subways, the spectacular escalators? It was always a happy, exciting outing for us. I loved bringing you into my office, I was so proud to show you off to my colleagues. Afterall, my coworkers at the Trade Center supported me through the stress and elation of our adoption process. By the time we returned home with you, my office friends, and even the mere acquaintances, welcomed us with a warm embrace that can only come from someone who genuinely shares in your joy. For a period of time, they were part of our extended family and our network that helped make adopting you a reality.
At a very young age, before you were even three, you could pick buildings out in the skyline ? the Empire State, the George Washington Bridge, the World Trade Center. Have you taken notice that we no longer engage in idle chat about the skyline when we?re driving within view? Do you still look for the towers on the horizon, as I do?
On that horrible Tuesday, we ? you, your Daddy, and me, were settling into a family vacation in a sunny rental house, on the beach, in Loveladies on LBI. We were within sight of the Barnegate Lighthouse. We awoke to a beautiful morning. Much to your chagrin, I pulled you away from the TV, piled you into the jogging stroller, and off we went, in search of fishing bait and a good workout. We heard the initial reports of a plane hitting the North Tower while at the local bait shop. Assuming it to be nuisance piper plane, I made a mental note to call my colleagues in the building to see how inconvenienced they were. If power had been disrupted, maybe I?d be able to persuade some to visit us at the beach on this great day.
By the time we returned to the rental house at 9:30, your Dad ran out to the deck with a panicky look yelling ?Do you know what?s going on??. The TV showed us both towers in flames and shortly after, we, and that includes you my innocent darling, witnessed the towers collapse. It was a sight that haunts me and I?m sure that you?re carrying that image with you somewhere deep inside too. What happens to a four year old who carries such an image?
As we watched the towers collapse, my imagination kept running back into the building. In my mind, I was in my tiny little corner atop the world on the 103rd floor of tower two. I could envision the floor, the faces, the stairwells, the windows, all of it crumbling, violently ripping apart, feeding that insatiable inferno of flames. I cannot articulate to you, son, the pall and the fear cast over our country that day, as we watched the devastation in New York and at the Pentagon, not knowing what would happen next or how many terrorists were laying in wait to strike again.
On 9/11/01, whatever trauma you experienced, you had to suffer it without your mother. I sobbed all day, as I tried to amass a mental list of names of friends, acquaintances and colleagues. I was awash in guilt that I wasn?t there and yet so grateful that I wasn?t. My mind overflowed with images of faces, snippets of everyday conversations, remembrances of simple kind gestures that were extended to me during my short tenure in the towers. All day, I tried to reach friends, sometimes reaching distraught family members or other colleagues, who had no more news than I. My cell phone rang constantly for the next few days with news of who was alive and who was ?still missing?. The emotions were monumental ? the utter elation of reaching a survivor was always followed by tragic news of senseless death. Survival and death, death and survival - over and over and over again. For weeks after the attacks, we euphemistically called the casualties, ?the missing? ? perhaps out of respect for families who still held on to hope for a cache of survivors tucked away in a subway tunnel. Perhaps it was that the fact the words themselves: ?dead?, ?murdered?, ?casualties? ?victims? ? conjured up images of a country at war. How could we assimilate such violence against so many friends and loved ones? For many of us, half of our friends were suddenly dead ? it gave life a sort of refugee dreamlike quality. Shock settled in.
Back on LBI, your father implored me to turn off the phone ? but how could I? Each ring held the possibility that someone else survived. Each ring rang a death toll. I grasped that phone as if it were life itself. The loss was overwhelming and profound. You were a darling; you concentrated on a computer game for just about the entire day. I know you were trying to shut out the sight of your mother in great pain. As I cried and I cried and I cried, I did my best to be honest with you. I explained that Mommy cried because she was sad to see so many of her friends hurt. I tried to assure you that we would do everything to keep you safe; but I?m sure you sensed our fear, as I secretly packed up an emergency bag of essentials to carry in our trunk. Did you find it odd that Mommy could not leave the house without first checking CNN?
There was about three months of funerals and memorials. In total I attended about 20 ceremonies. There could have been so many more, but I was getting so tired. In the office, we attended grief-counseling sessions; we cried quietly at our desks, gazing at e-mails from now dead colleagues; we remembered and shared stories and sobbed openly. We doubled up, making room in our offices for the survivors, the walking wounded, displaced from their offices at the Trade Center. We picked up files or assignments, handed on to us from the lost, telling one another that it was an honor to carry in on their memory. But, in reality, most of the time we felt the work insignificant, and the task just too sad to carry out. My entire industry was hit so hard. I don?t think it?s possible for others, outside the risk management and insurance community to fully comprehend how hard we were hit by the loss. On the heels of losing 500 colleagues (between Marsh and Aon), we had to also deal with the financial implications of assessing the damage at the scene, getting claims paid, understand the insurance markets? reaction to and future treatment of terrorist acts, while all the while attempting to help our clients assess the potential exposure presented by unknowable, unfathomable evil. Our minds, personally and professionally, were forced to try to contemplate, just how much worse it could get. Afterall, we?re in the risk management business. While experiencing a tremendous personal loss, our professional lives were quickly becoming unmanageable and our clients were needier than ever, with fewer of us to respond to them. It?s now June of 2002, and not a day goes by where we don?t talk about terrorism, the potential for more terrorism and the death of our colleagues. It?s our business and it will take a long time to heal.
On a more personal level, by now you know that your father and I were in the beginning stages of our divorce in 2002. On 9/11/01, I now recognize that we were very distant during that vacation. We found ourselves unable to comfort each other during the pain and agony of the events of 9/11/01. It?s sad that I went 20 funerals on my own. I wanted to find solace in our marriage, but it just wasn?t there. There are a lot of reasons for this, that I won?t address here. What you need to know is that the devastation of the World Trade Center attack and the dissolution of our marriage, are inextricably intertwined in my fiber. The violent collapse of the Towers became a metaphor for me, enabling me to get in touch with the enormous grief left in letting go of a fantasy for our family. My time at the World Trade Center, came to symbolize a most beautiful period in my life. On the day that I first reported into my brand new boss at the WTC (my company had been acquired), I had to tell him that I was leaving town to adopt a baby. Off we went to Missouri, to adopt you James, not knowing if I even had a job to come back to. I didn?t care. It was such an exciting, happy time in my life. I knew that my life was changing forever, I knew that my new life as a mother would be happier and more fulfilling than it had been before you. However, I envisioned us as a close nuclear little family. As the trade center was falling, I was coming to the grips with the reality that this little nuclear family wasn?t what I pretended it to be. The image of the towers falling, became a symbol for the breaking down of my hollow image of our family.
My grief, my tears, my loss was about so so many losses on so many levels. On that September day, my life was changing in many ways. It would not have been possible for me to imagine what it would look like going forward. I was contemplating, and coming to terms with, probably for the first time, that which is really important to me. Out of this period of terrible grief, I was feeling both a huge loss, but also gaining a feeling of becoming a more whole person. It?s ironic that loss and wholeness can be so connected. Just as the skyline is still standing, with a new silhouette, I am going forward, feeling wounded, a little frightened, but also more genuine and honest ? a better human being.
I pray that others will also seek honesty and wholeness in their pain, which will surely result in a better world for you and your grandchildren. I heard one clergy say during one of the many services I attended post 9/11, that if, in our grief, we could just love each other a tiny bit more, then all those lives would not have been lost in vain. God bless, you my precious son. I love you so much, and today, I will try to love you even a little bit more.
Love, Your Mommy Forever
Love, Your Mommy Forever
Collection
Citation
“story10904.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed December 19, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/10361.