story1404.xml

story1404.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-08-22

I remember it being a really beautiful morning. September mornings in New York City are always beautiful. The sun glows orange and warm, it blankets the buildings in a soft, gentle light. Warming their cement and brick structures from the cool of the evening before. I've lived in New York City, in the same apartment, in the same neighborhood for all of my 33 years. I was saying goodbye to my mother who was on her way to work, when a flash of news broke onto the tv screen. They were reporting a fire at the World Trade Center. It seemd as if there had been an explosion. I was shocked, but I seriously thought it was something under control, something that NYC and it's emergency services units could easily handle, no matter how tall those Twin Towers were. We've been through alot, this tough little city, and we always seem to make it through.
My mom and I commented on how terrible the fire was, and then she left for the day. Then the second plane attacked the second tower and I immediately went to my grandmother's apartment across the street. I laid with her in her bed, and we watched as the building collapsed into the cloud of dust that lingered over the next few days. I hugged my grandmother and felt terribly sad that she saw that happen in her lifetime.
I went back home and called friends, and e-mailed people I knew all over the us and the world. I was worried for my family and for all of my friends. I went to the grocery store and found that it was crowded unlike I had ever seen before. The shelves were bare of water, milk and bread. But people were sweet and friendly to one another and surprisingly calm.
I bought food for my family, and went home to drop it off.
From my apartment, it overlooks columbus avenue on the upper west side, and there is a breathtaking view of the manhattan skyline. The Empire State Building has stood tall in my view for all of my life, and when I looked to downtown Manhattan, there loomed a massive cloud of black-grey smoke that moved eastward towards Brooklyn and LI. I was lucky that day. I had all of my family and friends safe in my sights and in my thoughts.
I am sorry for all of those people lost and the families that have had to endure such tragedy and suffering.
I'll never forget how the smoke from lower Manhattan proved to me how different that day was. THe booming engines of the F-16's flying overhead was very frieghtening, though I know it was meant for our protection and defense.
That night, and the following nights until the smoke disappeared from the WTC site, I sat on my terrace, curled up in a blanket,and with the storm lamps lit aglow, I cried for many hours. I hope this doesn't sound awful or offensive in any way, because that is not my intention, but the smoke, though abnormal and sad with its presence, in some ways gave me comfort. For as long as the smoke was there, I knew that the WTC was still there, that I could always mark its spot in my memory. For I knew when the smoke was gone, the WTC would be gone forever as well.

The one and only time I visited ground zero, was in early december. It was a cloudy, cold day and I was thinking I could deal with seeing this place, and I felt my knees shake as I climbed the steps from the subway. Nothing, absolutely nothing could prepare me for what I saw and what I felt. It broke my heart. It completely broke my heart. The tears came so quickly and they were so from my heart. I had no control over them. This sad graveyard for so many brave, innocent people. How do you tell all thses souls that you are sorry for what happened to them? Hatred did this? Why did this happen? So many questions, so many emotions. I watched the recovery workers in awe and admiration, working through the night, the cold, the rain. How beautfiful and thoughtful of them to not leave those lost souls alone in this vast and horrific gravesite.How can you nto feel for all of them? I never wanted to go back.