story9906.xml

story9906.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2003-09-11

I was born and raised in the Bronx, living there for the first 22 years of my life. In June of 2001, I moved to Miami, Florida two months after my wedding, and two months later found out I was expecting. On the morning of September 11th, I was driving to work with my sister when we heard on the news that a plane crashed into the North Tower of thr World Trade Center in NYC. Being New Yorkers ourselves, we immediately wondered how a plane could accidently hit one of the twin towers. Calling the pilots "blind", our nonchalant attitude ended abruptly when they announced a second plane hit, this time the south tower. I dropped her off at her job in Bacardi, USA, and headed to South Beach to mine at Sony Music. There, I saw the worst. All the televisions on my floor were tuned into the news, and what I saw made my heart stop. When the first tower fell, I was in too much shock to react. To me, one of the twin towers falling was unimaginable. It just didn't happen. When the second fell, the gray haze of reality and denial set in. Those towers just didn't fall. They were the Twin Towers. Landmarks. Two skyscrapers that New Yorkers have taken for granted for years. So implanted in the New York skyline that you almost didn't even notice them anymore. I couldn't believe it. Then the Miami panic set in. Everyone started running around, swearing South Florida was next. Amidst all of that, I was trying to find my friends and mother who were all unreachable as cellphone networks were all down. An hour or two later, we were allowed to leave, whereupon my husband picked me up and we drove home, passing the toll booth that waived us through without at fee, passing the cars on the highway, all drivers tuned into the radios with expressions of shock written on their faces. That night, after the dust had settled and all of our loved ones were home safe and sound, the aftermath of the worst terrorist attack on American soil unwound. The people that were missing started to be counted, like Lieutenant William "Billy" C. McGinn, a friend of my husband's who was located and laid to rest a month later. The body count rose as did the heartache. Over three thousand dead after the attack on the Pentagon and the plane crash in Pennsylvania.
Two years later, I still can't keep a dry eye hearing a story, or recounting an event from that day. As much as it pains me to remember what happened, what occurred in my city and my country, I hope that that feeling never goes away. I never want to be able to think of that day and not cry. Because then it means I will never, ever forget what happened. And I hope no one else will, ever.
On Behalf of myself, and my family- Ernesto, Evangeline Jianna and Ernesto Jarrell, Jr.- To Billy and the other souls that perished on that day: Rest In Peace.
To My New Yorkers: Keep It Up.