story20722.xml
Title
story20722.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2006-09-11
911DA Story: Story
I remember that, after the fog, a bright sunny day was going to be in store for us. I remember saying to my son, "Let's walk you to school today, it's so gorgeous!"
I took my camera with me and snapped some photos on the way to my son's school. Realizing that time was slipping away, I made it back home to get ready for work. As I was saying good-bye to my husband, our neighbor, Leroy, said, "Hey, guys -- did you just hear? Some guy crashed his plane into the World Trade Center."
"Probably some new pilot flying their Piper Airplane -- I hope noone's seriously hurt," my husband replied.
I quickly kissed my husband and said, "That's a shame -- you know that guy probably died. But, I've gotta go to work -- bye!"
At work, people were talking about a plane that hit the World Trade Center, but they all thought it was a small plane. Then, the phone call came. "Becky -- it was a jet that hit the World Trade Center -- and there wasnt' just one -- there were two jets!" my husband sounded nervous. "What were those pilots thinking? It may be hijackers, they don't know yet. I'll keep you posted."
The pharmacy was abuzz with the news as it was happening. We were only an hour's train ride to Grand Central Station, and many people from the area would commute every morning into the city. My sister, brother, and his fiance all lived in New York City. I told my superviser, Shibu, that I was going to try to call them. It was the same situation: the phone lines were tied up. I started fearing for my sister in particular: she was a head-hunter and free-lance photographer -- would she try to take photos of the Trade Center, or would she stay at her apartment? I prayed for the latter.
My husband called again. "Someone just crashed a jet into the Pentagon, Becky! If there's another plane, I want you to leave work, get Glenn at school, and come home."
When word came that a jet crashed in a field in Pennsylvania, again the worriment hit, as my mother, father and eldest brother lived in Pennsylvania. What if they died without my saying that I loved them? The place where it crashed was no where near my parents. I looked at my boss and said, "I'm going home."
I went to school, which was in lock-down, and picked up my son. We went to the store to pick up water, canned goods and other neccessities.
When I got home, my husband and I contemplated taking the children and heading somewhere -- but where? I needed to speak to my family in NYC. Tears kept streaming down my eyes as I tried and tried to call my sister, my brother, and his fiance. I remember praying for God to protect them.
Horror struck when we saw the buildings go down on live television. I cried and cried for those people who died in the carnage, for the people who quickly kissed their families goodbye, not realizing that it would be their last kiss with that person.
I finally got ahold of my sister, somehow. I found out that she was going to meet someone at the restaurant in the WTC that morning, to ask how her job at Cantor-Fitzgerald was going. Somehow, she couldn't make it, and didn't go to breakfast there. Then, when the planes hit, a photographer friend came to her door, wishing to take photos of the World Trade Center with my sister. She refused to go; that was the last that she saw of her photographer friend. She also became very sad, saying that she sent so many people to their deaths, by placing them at businesses in the WTC. I told her that it wasn't she who hijacked a plane and rammed it into the World Trade Center -- it was a bunch of lunatics who thought they were doing something beneficial for their religion.
My brother and his fiance were alright, physically, but mentally, they were drained.
After the Towers fell, I couldn't leave the television. I watched every news program, crying with every show. My husband had to turn off the television.
To this day, whenever I see something about 911, I either get drawn to it, or I have to turn it off, as the feelings associated with it are still so intense, even after five years.
I took my camera with me and snapped some photos on the way to my son's school. Realizing that time was slipping away, I made it back home to get ready for work. As I was saying good-bye to my husband, our neighbor, Leroy, said, "Hey, guys -- did you just hear? Some guy crashed his plane into the World Trade Center."
"Probably some new pilot flying their Piper Airplane -- I hope noone's seriously hurt," my husband replied.
I quickly kissed my husband and said, "That's a shame -- you know that guy probably died. But, I've gotta go to work -- bye!"
At work, people were talking about a plane that hit the World Trade Center, but they all thought it was a small plane. Then, the phone call came. "Becky -- it was a jet that hit the World Trade Center -- and there wasnt' just one -- there were two jets!" my husband sounded nervous. "What were those pilots thinking? It may be hijackers, they don't know yet. I'll keep you posted."
The pharmacy was abuzz with the news as it was happening. We were only an hour's train ride to Grand Central Station, and many people from the area would commute every morning into the city. My sister, brother, and his fiance all lived in New York City. I told my superviser, Shibu, that I was going to try to call them. It was the same situation: the phone lines were tied up. I started fearing for my sister in particular: she was a head-hunter and free-lance photographer -- would she try to take photos of the Trade Center, or would she stay at her apartment? I prayed for the latter.
My husband called again. "Someone just crashed a jet into the Pentagon, Becky! If there's another plane, I want you to leave work, get Glenn at school, and come home."
When word came that a jet crashed in a field in Pennsylvania, again the worriment hit, as my mother, father and eldest brother lived in Pennsylvania. What if they died without my saying that I loved them? The place where it crashed was no where near my parents. I looked at my boss and said, "I'm going home."
I went to school, which was in lock-down, and picked up my son. We went to the store to pick up water, canned goods and other neccessities.
When I got home, my husband and I contemplated taking the children and heading somewhere -- but where? I needed to speak to my family in NYC. Tears kept streaming down my eyes as I tried and tried to call my sister, my brother, and his fiance. I remember praying for God to protect them.
Horror struck when we saw the buildings go down on live television. I cried and cried for those people who died in the carnage, for the people who quickly kissed their families goodbye, not realizing that it would be their last kiss with that person.
I finally got ahold of my sister, somehow. I found out that she was going to meet someone at the restaurant in the WTC that morning, to ask how her job at Cantor-Fitzgerald was going. Somehow, she couldn't make it, and didn't go to breakfast there. Then, when the planes hit, a photographer friend came to her door, wishing to take photos of the World Trade Center with my sister. She refused to go; that was the last that she saw of her photographer friend. She also became very sad, saying that she sent so many people to their deaths, by placing them at businesses in the WTC. I told her that it wasn't she who hijacked a plane and rammed it into the World Trade Center -- it was a bunch of lunatics who thought they were doing something beneficial for their religion.
My brother and his fiance were alright, physically, but mentally, they were drained.
After the Towers fell, I couldn't leave the television. I watched every news program, crying with every show. My husband had to turn off the television.
To this day, whenever I see something about 911, I either get drawn to it, or I have to turn it off, as the feelings associated with it are still so intense, even after five years.
Collection
Citation
“story20722.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed January 9, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/7863.