dojW000280.xml

dojW000280.xml

born-digital

email

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2001-11-07

Wednesday, November 07, 2001 2:21 PM
from BPC Resident

We are all thankful to be alive. We mourn for those who have lost their
lives. We cry for all of those who are heroes, and workers, and lovers of
our beautiful city and who are no longer here. We especially cry for their
family and friends who are left behind.

We also mourn the loss of our neighborhood. We have lived there almost ten
years. Every day we knew how lucky we were to claim Battery Park City as our
community. It was peaceful and vibrant, a small town in a busy city, and the
World Trade Center was the hub of the wheel. It was a measure of the clouds
and weather, it reflected the light of the sun and sky, and as you explored
the depths of the financial district or Tribeca or China Town, it was the
beacon that brought you home again.

My children (boys ages 6 and 8) attend PS 89. We were proud to be part of
the very first kindergarten class there and watched with pride and amazement
as the school grew. We knew we helped build it, and put books on the library
shelves, and make it into this incredible happy center of our children's
outside world.

It was just after I dropped my children at school that the first plane hit
the North tower. I was just outside the Winter Garden by the Financial
Center, so I ran closer to the marina to escape any falling debris. I was
outside of the Gateway Plaza complex when the second plane hit. You knew
then that it was then end of the world as you knew it. We were being
attacked in our very backyard. The people jumping from the towers confirmed
how helpless we all were. The dove and tumbled out of the inferno they were
trapped in. I wondered about the wonderful firemen in the ladder company
right across the street, (they used to let my kids come in and look at the
trucks and gear, they were our heroes already), and if they were OK. Little
did we know what was in store for New York's Bravest.

I was with my neighbors helping them comfort their toddlers, and we were all
trying to figure out how to get to our kids at school. My husband appeared
(he works at the and was running across West St. when the second plane hit). We went to our apartment, closed our windows, grabbed
some money, and decided to try and get to the kids at school. We were on our
way when I looked up at the burning tower, and saw it start to collapse. We
ran behind a building kept our heads down and pulled our shirts over our
faces. As the darkness lifted and the smoke cleared, we were told to
evacuate to the South. We washed the soot out of our mouth and nose and
eyes, and walked south. We were able to more easily outrun the collapse of
the second tower, and stood at the South marina as our friends and neighbors
boarded tugs and barges. Our children were of course our first priority and
we would not get on any boat until their whereabouts and safety could be
confirmed. Since radios and phones were out, no one knew.

My husband and I turned and walked against the throngs of people heading
south to the evacuation point, and walked along our beautiful esplanade, now
thick with soot and papers. As we got closer to ground zero and the
financial center, the papers were more concentrated, the soot deeper, and the
pieces of debris larger and more disturbing. The evidence of human loss was
illustrated by the many shoes that littered the area. They were everywhere.
We walked by the smoldering, blackened Winter Garden. Just an hour or so
earlier, it was a glowing, brilliant centerpiece to the World Financial
Center. Just across the street was the hold in the sky where the World Trade
Center once stood.

We located our children at a public school in the West Village. They were
being evacuated as the first tower fell. My younger son cried as he saw this
and said he was worried about us. My older son was witness to the burning of
the first tower out his classroom window before the shades were finally
drawn.

We will return to our neighborhood when the fires are out. I cannot bring my
children home to a place where the fires burn across the street and the air
they breathe is of questionable quality. They have also both had respiratory
issues that have required hospitalization in the past, and I certainly will
not take any additional risks with their health, physical or emotional.

I think we are all lucky. We have weathered this together as a family
intact. Our home still stands. Our children are old enough to understand
what happened, but perhaps just young enough to be spared the huge
ramifications of the loss of life and economic repercussions. They know
their favorite store is gone (Borders Books), and many of their friends have
moved away and will not be returning. There have been few nightmares and we
all support each other. That is a lot to be grateful for.

We have received financial assistance and we have explored various funds that
are available. There is no one not affected by this. There are many who
suffered an unfathonable loss. We only lost our community, our sense of
safety and well being. We were witness to an attack of terrorism across the
street from where we live. We ran from a crumbling tower and were enveloped
in it's ash and darkness. What is compensation for that? Is there
compensation for that? More than anything, this exercise has been cathartic.
There are hundreds, thousands of stories for those who have been touched by
this. I hope whoever reads this gains some small insight into what out world
was, and what it is now.

Thank you.

Individual Comment
New York, New York

2001-11-07