nmah5444.xml

nmah5444.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2003-02-25

My parents rarely spend the night at my house. It's almost as if someone of a higher power wanted them to stay over on the night of September 10th. We were all together the next morning enjoying our coffee, sending the kids off to school, my Dad watching CNN as he does first thing every morning, and then the unimaginable happened. As we watched in horror the burning of Tower 1 we sat in disbelief knowing that people were in there and on the ground surrounding the area. Before we could even speak, the second plane hit Tower 2 right in front of our eyes. My Dad let out a horrible deep groan that I'd never heard before. I was very nervous and felt the adrenaline come over me because I knew deep in my heart that my cousin was in there and was probably trying with all his might to get out of Tower 1. My Mom didn't know that he worked on the 105th floor and I didn't want to tell her right at that time that her brother's son was in there. The first thing I did was call my brother's wife to see if he called her to say he was okay. She said that he was safe at his Wall Street office but that he was on his way to the towers to check on my cousin. Knowing that my brother was alive, I then called my cousin's wife to see if she had heard from him, she hadn't heard anything yet but would call me back as soon as she did. I knew I wouldn't get that call. At that moment something in my heart just died and that's when I knew it was time to tell my Mom that her nephew worked at Cantor Fitzgerald. The look on her face was the saddest look I'd ever seen. She couldn't speak or cry, it was a look of total shock and disbelief. Thank God were were all together that morning. I don't think the outcome of my parent's health would have been the same had they been alone. She always loved her nephew like a son even more so after his parents passed away. The first thing she did say that morning was that she was thankful that her brother didn't have to see what was happening. The tower then collapsed. A wave of nausea came over me thinking that my brtother was now at the towers trying frantically to look for my cousin. So many people in there, so many people down below. This was no accident. We know that New York is somebody's target. The panic that was setting in was overwhelming. I called my brother's wife again to see if she heard from him. No word. Nothing. All we could do is wait and call hotlines and hospitals. The second tower falls. I couldn't take it anymore. I got in the car and pulled my kids out of school. I wanted them home with me. I wanted us all to be together. My head was spinning, no tears, telling my 7 and 8 year old that everything was fine and I just wanted them home with me. It was hours later that my brother returned to his home completely covered in toxic ash from head to toe, splintered pieces of glass in his face, eyes so red and coughing his insides up. He could not speak, he could not hear. He had a blank stare. He threw out his suit and his shoes, closed the bedroom door and did not come out for days. By the time he did come out, he learned that along with his cousin, 62 friends had been murdered. Many were the guys we grew up with in Staten Island, so many were the firefighters he played football with that told him to turn around and go home when they saw him trying to get closer. Many were his old co-workers and his Thursday night drinking buddies. Thinking back and telling my story is bringing that same nausea back again. It was the saddest day of a lot of people's lives, not just mine.

Life has changed so much. It's not as fun as it used to be. There's a sadness in so many faces that used to be so happy. We go on with our lives, but that look is permanently etched in our faces. It makes you look and feel twenty years older than you really are. I don't think it will ever go away. Ever.