I met someone online today who was right there on September 11th, and watched the WTC fall. We shared our feelings about it all, and bin Laden's death. This was my last reply to him. I can't write anymore today.
Reading your piece brings it all back. The 2 days of terror as I waited and watched NY1 every moment I wasn't at work, unable to call home. Lifelong friends and family were there at the WTC. My brother's best friend had gone downstairs for a cigarette and was on the concourse when the first plane hit. He froze in place. When the firefighters got to him he'd been burned over 60% of his body. RIP, Pat.
A family member was among those white dust-covered walkers. As she left the WTC a man who'd jumped landed in front of her. His blood covered her, then the dust as she walked home to Brooklyn in shock.
My old neighbor, a teacher at CAS, went to the site to help. He's still fugue-ing.
A friend was late getting out and turned the corner on Church just as the second plane hit. For weeks, she said, the city smelled like a crematorium on fire.
Every morning the NY ex-pats at my workplace pored over the Times, searching for names we hoped wouldn't be listed. It was about a week later that I found Paul Talty's name. He was a PA guy, a friend's brother. They had lost another brother, a NJ cop, in a shooting a couple of years earlier.
My Dad took me to see the WTC being built in 1973. I have photos. As NYers we were so proud of it, reaching the sky while the city was in such turmoil. I'm glad my parents weren't alive to see September 11th. My Mom was a Marine working at the Pentagon in WW2; that day would've killed her.
I hated bin Laden. Yes, I'm glad he's dead, though it makes me sick at heart to admit it. I hate death. But I hated bin Laden more.
A Day --an Unresolved Day
1 day ago