9/11 One Mile from Ground Zero in New York City

It feels a bit daunting to have reached the quarter-century milestone of September 11. I still occasionally have panic attacks, but they are far rarer than they were in the past. For my nieces and nephews, who are now in college and only know of 9/11from history class, the event feels a bit abstract, but it was very real for me.

On September 11, 2001, I awoke from my Midtown apartment near Grand Central Station and the United Nations on Manhattan’s East Side. I received a phone call from a woman named Michelle, who worked with my husband at the time. She told me to turn on the television, and I found MSNBC just in time to see the second plane hit the World Trade Center (WTC). When I tried to respond, the lie went dead. Now wide awake, I realized the terrifying fact that my husband was supposed to be at a meeting inside WTC Tower 1. I tried to call him on his cell phone several times but was unable to reach him.

After determining those efforts were futile, I began to debate my next steps internally. It did not take long for me to realize that there were only two likely scenarios. My husband was dead or not. If he was alive, I needed to stay where I was and wait for him to return home. I sat there holding my grey one-eyed tabby cat, Kiddiot, and watched the commentators try their best to make some sense of what was happening. From outside my apartment window, I could see the smog (for lack of a better word) all around my block. When I saw the structures completely collapse and felt the gigantic vibration that seemed to emanate throughout my body at the same time, I again debated my choices and next steps.

Ultimately, I determined that the wisest course of action was to do nothing. Still, I did go across the street to make sure the couple I knew who owned the bodega by us was safe and I then convinced the newsstand vendor I saw every morning to close his newsstand and go into the bodega where it was safe. Notably, doing nothing went against my instincts, except for the fact that my husband, if alive, needed me to be there when he arrived.

To this day, I still am not entirely clear how much time passed. I am sure there are specific historical facts in all the newspapers and websites even as I write this, but frankly, it is irrelevant. I’m not sure if I was in shock or disassociating from the events, but I wasn’t reacting outwardly.

I tried a few more times to make calls with no success and then paced around our apartment trying to think of contingency plans I could make at that point to determine when and alternative course of action was required and/or when I should begin to reevaluate the situation. Meanwhile, the news media chose to continue to replay the 9/11footage in a constant loop and debate the potential impacts on the TV. I had begun to count the replays in my head, reaching around 10, when the world changed again that day. It was simply the quiet sound of a key in our apartment door.

I bolted for the door and wrestled it open to find a woman named Linda, a man named Jeff, and yes, my husband. After collecting myself, I welcomed them and all of us sat and readjusted for a few minutes while they all watched more replays of the attacks and the latest speculation by the commentators all over the airwaves. My husband and our newly adopted brother Jeff decided to go in search of a way to take positive action. They went to the American Red Cross at Columbus Circle near Lincoln Center to see if they required blood donations while I sat with Linda and tried to regain my normal steady equilibrium.

In the years since 9/11, I have listened to thousands of experiences of others recounting their memories of that day and how their lives changed. Mine absolutely changed trajectory as well. Following 9/11, my husband became a volunteer Emergency Medical Technician, an NYPD Auxiliary Police officer and an instructor for the American Red Cross. I went directly to Red Cross and offered to assist in any way I could, beginning as an It web content professional and moved into media relations from there. I began to realize that the equilibrium that I somehow maintained in my body and mind that day when I had no control, was a rare ability that I should use to help others. So, I determinedly chose to change my career path to emergency response and crisis communications. When I instruct volunteers and staff for the Red Cross, Team Rubicon and other organizations, I am often asked by students what started me on that path. Ironically, the path moved me over to the intelligence community and has allowed me to continue to serve for two decades now.

Over the past quarter-century, I have attended many memorial services, funerals, and other ceremonies for the responders, the deceased and their families. However, the one that I found impossible to participate in until more recently was the annual 9/11 memorial. I remember annoying a volunteer recruiter one year who asked me why I did not feel I should be involved in the memorials. I thought it through and simply replied, “Look. I am loath to look at a spouse, child, friend or other loved one of the nearly 3,000 people who did not survive and try to tell them that I understand or truly empathize.” For whatever reason, my husband came home. So, on every anniversary, I pray for all of those who lost their loved ones, and then I thank God that my husband came through that apartment door. I do not feel worthyof being part of a ceremony that I am honestly too blessed to deserve. The memories are far more important to me. I now simply give back everything I can to the people I can help and do everything I can to offer my support during hurricanes, fires, floods, and so far, even two additional plane crashes; but not for 9/11. For that, they deserve better.

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