22 Years Later

 

The view from my roof.: That I am alive, is not something I take for granted.

Twenty two years later, I still remember the sounds (the roar of jets, the explosions, the screams, the sounds of jumpers hitting the pavement, the alarms, the sobbing).

I still remember the cloud and not being able to see my own hand in that indescribable darkness and thinking I was either dead or buried alive.

I still remember walking though debris up to my ankles. The running and terror. I remember how my skin burned, after what felt like being sand blasted.

That I am alive, is not something I take for granted.

I had PTSD: I was unable to sleep and had to be medicated. I could not sleep in my bed and had to sleep on my sofa facing the window with the shades up, sometimes with shoes on. I had audio hallucinations, repeating the explosions that would startle me awake. I didn't feel hunger, and my stomach stopped growling as a reminder. I couldn't take the subway for some time, so I walked or rode my bike.

As a result: If I smell anything remotely similar, I stop in my tracks - this has happened several times since and I don't know what that smell is. One time it was near a parking garage in Reston. I always know where exits are, and need to know that I can get out. I don't like confined spaces. I have zero tolerance for BS and I no longer mince words...and maybe that's not a bad thing.

21 Years Later

 Today, for some reason, I'm remembering this....three days after...we were able to rescue pets from our building.

20 Years Later

This is very much me.

Thank you to all who sent your love and support yesterday. We dropped by Wildfest for Blue Ridge Wildlife Center and met a tiny screech owl named Dopey. He was rescued when he was tossed from the nest due to neurological issues. * It was outdoors, everyone was masked and distanced.

Dopey the Screech

During our long car ride to and fro, I told my cub what happened to me on 9/11. I have never told him the story. I explained the ways in which it changed me. I showed him these 2 photos.  

Where I was.

 

The view from my building

He now understands why I spend this day doing things that I enjoy and why I savor sunsets, and moments of beauty. He also understood why loud noises rattle me, and I avoid flying, and why I say "safe journey, safe return" every time I see a low flying plane.

Later that evening we drove to our favorite place, Blandy Experimental Farm VA State Arboretum for the star gazing event. It was wonderful as usual...all their programs are. We saw Jupiter and 4 of it's moons. We saw Saturn. We saw Mizar and Alcor. We saw a high power glimpse of the moon.

Virginia is host to FOUR parks designated as International Dark Sky Parks by the International Dark-Sky Association (IDA) - Staunton River, James River, Natural Bridge and Sky Meadows.

As we stood there with the Milky Way directly above our heads, my son said, "Mom, my mind is completely blown." He then asked where I keep my telescope.

My 9/11 story in brief. (The detailed version can be found in the archives.). I discovered that my body shakes when I tell my story.

I was sitting on my sofa when suddenly there was a loud noise and the windows shook violently. I couldn't imagine what it was and wondered if a delivery truck crashed into my building. I decided to go to the roof to investigate. When I walked onto the roof I froze at the site. There was a big gaping hole in the tower and flames and black smoke. I went into shock, like I wasn't fully in my body. I could hear myself crying. I saw people jumping. I heard them hit the ground, but my brain thankfully erased the visual. The sound tho still haunts me.

What snapped me out of it was...a loud roar, and an explosion. The second jet. A huge ball of flames and debris. I ran down the stairs back to my apartment. I was horrified, disoriented, confused, terrified.

At some point there was a deafening noise. The building started shaking. I hit the floor beside my sofa and covered my head. When the noise and shaking stopped, I peeked over the sofa arm and saw a cloud then eveything went black. I could not see the hand in front of my face. I thought I was dead. There was a weird smell and I thought if I'm smelling this, I can't be dead. Then I saw the light to my surge protector and thought, if I'm seeing that I'm not dead. I tried to figure out why I could not see and thought perhaps I was buried alive. I had not yet realized the tower had fallen.

I felt my way around my flat. The cats were hiding. I filled their water bowl. I felt my way to door. The door did not feel hot. I decided to go to the lobby to find out what happened. I pulled my t-shirt over my nose like a filter and opened the door. The hallway was like a fog. The emergency light was on but it was so hard to see. I walked down the staircase and with each flight, it became thicker and thicker. Everyone in the lobby was covered in white dust. My doorman Felix said, "Go Wendy, go, I'll watch over everything". I stepped outside with arms outstretched to feel for the next building, I shuffled across the courtyard thru ankle deep debris until I found the next building. I would not look down at debris. All around me it was snowing gray stuff.

When I reached the door of the building someone opened it and pulled me inside. Then an officer banged on the door and told us to run. We ran toward South Ferry. I saw Dino the security guy from World Financial Center and we hugged.

Then we heard another roar. Dino told me to get down and take cover. He shielded me while we huddle on the pavement. I asked him if it was another plane and he said tearily, "No, it's the other tower falling down". I had not fully realized that the North Tower had already fallen. It felt like we were being sand blasted. My skin burned.

When we were able to get to our feet, we stood there dazed when a police boat pulled up and told us to get on. I wouldn't go. I needed to make sure my building was still there and that my kitties were safe. Dino told the officer he would take me. We walked back to my corner and he said, "look look your building is fine, your cats are fine...". We headed back to the boat.

They dumped us across river were we sat staring at the cloud. I could not stop crying. Later a bus arrived and took as to a high school. I washed my face at the sink. I slept on the wood floor of the gym. I kept hearing noises, explosions...I would later learn they were audio hallucinations. These would continue for quite some time.

I was diagnosed with PTSD. I had great difficulty articulating what happened so I had to write it all down in this diary.

How it has changed me for better or worse:

I lost a few filters. I'm more direct than I was before, sometimes blunt. I'm sensitive to loud noises. I avoid flying and crowded places. I'm acutely aware of my surroundings all the time. I keep a mini flashlight in my bag - always. I have zero tolerance for all varieties bullshit.

But also? Some of the good things that make me Wendy are more amplified. Like...I will take our dinner to the lake to watch the sunset. I will go visit the little owl. I will go to Blandy to look at the planets with my son. I will do the things. Even when it feels hard to merely put one foot in front of the other. Even when life feels crazy hard and unfair. Even when the world feels effed up and scary. Even when I'm angry and sad. Even when I'm so sick of people who are deceitful, or who do shitty things. Even when I feel so done...I make myself do the things.

I still can't believe I'm alive. I don't take that for granted. Ever.

19 Years Later

Nineteen years ago FEMA was on the ground helping survivors of the terrorist attack outside my door.  Today I'm working for FEMA.  In some ways it feels like giving back.  I have a sense of what the survivors are going through.  While our disasters are different, I understand the shock.  One survivor told me that she hasn't been eating.  I remembered this.  I said, "because you are not getting the hunger cues, right?"  "YEA!", she said, " and started to cry".  I told her that it's from the shock, but it will come back.  I directed her to a crisis hotline and said, "if you wake up at 3 am...there will always be someone to talk to".   "How did you know", she asked.  I said, "I'm a survivor too...call this number when you wake up".  She was grateful, and I was grateful to go the extra mile for her.  To go beyond just giving her a status update on her account, but to listen deeply and hear what she needed.

There are so many sad stories. 
I hold them all in my heart beside my own. 

Still, I avoid social media on this day, except to touch base and let loved ones know I'm ok.
I don't want to see the tribute photos.
I have my own...
I saw things I will never forget.

Be generous with your embrace,
W

18 Years Later

"Suddenly with no warning,
You are ambushed by grief." - John O'Donohue

I wish I had some good news to write.  The rug has been pulled out from under yet again.  On August 30th, my husband Robert died unexpectedly as a result of a sudden heart attack.  We had finally bought our own home in Virginia after 13 years of renting, and just two months after we moved in - tragedy struck.

I met Robert on January 1, 2002.  It was 4 months after the attack on WTC.  My apartment was across the street from ground zero and I was recovering from PTSD.  I was not in an emotional place to get involved with anyone.  He was patient and waited until I was ready to go on a date with him nearly a month later.  What struck me about him was how unaffected he seemed about the horrific scene outside my door.  His calm affect made me feel safe.  We continued to date, a relationship developed, and we fell in love over our shared values. Things moved rather quickly from there. 

In November of 2002 he told me that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.  I was scared about getting married.  He said we can do it any way I choose, so I agreed to a domestic partnership first.  He moved into my apartment that Thanksgiving weekend.  I told him that I didn't want a ring, or a wedding, or a honeymoon.  I explained that I am practical and would rather have the security of home for our family and to plant roots.

In the summer of 2003 we talked about having a child.  I knew that due to my advanced maternal age, it was now or never.  He was reluctant, but thankfully reconsidered.  Our first pregnancy resulted in a miscarriage which is common.  However, due to my age, and the good fortune of having excellent insurance that covered one cycle of IVF, we decided to give that a whirl.  I began IVF and Robert was offered a job with Legal Aid in Syracuse, so he moved upstate while I stayed back in NYC to continue treatment.  It was hard undergoing IVF without Robert there, but we were both doing what we had to do to build our life together and I had the support of friends.  I did my own shots, and was solo for most of my appointments.  My body only made one egg and the doctor wasn't hopeful but we pushed forward anyway.  I think the hardest moment was the egg transfer.  I wished Robert had at least been there for that.  That is when the doctor inserts the fertilized egg back into the uterus.  It's the defining moment.  I asked the doctor to take a screen shot of our little morula for Robert.  He did! 

I had to remain in NYC because I was considered a high risk pregnancy.  Robert and I got married,  and when my doctor cleared me for travel, and I joined Robert in Syracuse where our beautiful son was born. 

A year later, Robert was offered a job with the Social Security Administration and we moved to Virginia on the day after Christmas.  We've been living there ever since.  After 13 years of renting and moving, last summer we began searching for a home we could afford.  

I made concentric rings on a map and searched those areas until we could find one.  We found a home in rural VA, an hour and a half from where we were living and as it would greatly reduce our cost of living, we took the leap.

Our inspector (red truck) gave us the thumbs up!

We would finally have the security of our own home, we moved in on June 20th.  This was to be our 5th and final move.  Robert died on August 30th.

My son and I are both in shock and deep grief.  After being a homemaker for 13 years, I'm now trying to find a job to be able to pay for a mortgage that was based on my husband's salary.  My hope is to be able to keep the house at least until our son graduates high school so not to uproot him and further traumatize him.  Dear friends of mine arranged a financial planner and he thinks it may be doable.  Sadly, I don't know if I will be able to afford our home long term. 

Dear friends of mine started a gofundme to help with mortgage etc until I find a job and while I await the slow crawl of death benefits.  We are grateful for the generosity as it has enabled us to shelter in place during this tragedy.  Please feel free to share it if you see fit.

In closing, please know that I am doing the best I can.  I'm focusing on being present for my son, and his needs during this horrific time.  I'm trying to, once again, dig out from under, recover and rebuild.

W

17 years later

So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing. - T.S. Eliot

Thank you to my friends and family that reached out to me yesterday, via text, and messages. I spent the day in silence, away from media. I don't want to see all the pictures because I can still see them jumping and hear them hitting the concrete. So please understand.

I am grateful to be alive. I am alive because on that day, I was scheduled to work a later shift and therefore was not walking through WTC to catch the subway when the jets hit. I am alive because, the WTC fell straight down while my building across the street shook violently and I hit the floor in a state of shock and panic. I am grateful to be alive.

Yesterday I cleaned out the studio while uploading my music as part of my fall-fling before our summer move. I only logged into FB to upload items for giveaway on our local BN page. I stayed away from FB feeds.

When my son returned from school he told me that some kids were making jokes about 9/11 and it made him very upset because, while he doesn't know the horror of my experience, he knows that I was there - right there - when it happened. He doesn't know about the debris cloud so thick that I could not see the hand in front of my face, and thought I was either dead or buried alive, that I had to feel my way out of my apartment. He knows that I'm lucky to be alive. I am. And I don't take that for granted.

 While I have made great strides in healing over the years, part of me is forever changed. I still awaken from deep sleep if I hear a plane. When I see a low flying plane I have to catch my breath. Specific chemical smells, and loud noises are a trigger. I still keep a mini flashlight in my bag. There is a flashlight hanging on a doorknob on each floor of our rental incase the power goes out. I don't enjoy flying. At all.

For a long time thereafter, my psyche felt as raw and as stinging as my skin felt from the sandblast of debris when the second tower fell that left me completely covered in gray soot from head to toe.

Much has healed since. For better or worse, I am no longer afraid to say what's really on my mind. I am grateful to be alive and I will keep living it fully as I am able. I will make memories for my son. I will take my dinner to the lake to watch the bats at sunset. I will drive to the path of totality to watch the eclipse. I will climb the mountain for perspective. I will gather the friends for winter solstice. I will look for more excuses to make s'mores. I will make cool stuff with kids. I will grow blueberries on my deck and lemons in my kitchen. I will learn the names of the critters and plants who introduce themselves to me. I will immerse myself in the conversation until I know which bird is speaking, even with my eyes closed - like when you wake to voices at a family gathering and you know that voice in the kitchen is your great aunt. I will make the cakes that look like moss, and necklaces from spider silk. I will give what I can, when I can. I will say yes, and no and feel all the feels, and howl with the wolves. I will stand up to bigotry of any kind, and I will sit and listen when you tell me your story.

 I will share with you the words that come, and I will keep for myself the words I choose to.

 Made so & rooted by love,
Wendy

 *This journal entry is dedicated to my friend, Linni, who passed away one year ago. In one conversation prior to her parting, we talked about my experience on 9/11 and how we must preserve the stories so they are not forgotten. She said, "I promise that I will never forget what happened to you on that day". That she left her body on the morning of 9/11/2017. There are no coincidences. Her spirit will always be with me on this day.

13 Years Later

The House of Belonging by David Whyte (excerpt)


I know this house,
and this horizon,
and this world I have made.
I know this silence
and the particular treasures
and terrors
of this belonging
but I cannot know the world
to which I am going.

I have only this breath
and this presence
for my wings
and they carry me
in my body
whatever I do
from one hushed moment
to another.

I know my innocence
and I know my unknowing
but for all my successes
I go through life
like a blind child
who cannot see,
arms outstretched
trying to put together
a world.

And the world
works on my behalf
catching me in its arms
when I go too far.

I don’t know what
I could have done
to have earned such faith.

But what of all the others
and the bitter lovers
and the ones who were not held?

Life turns like a slow river
and suddenly you are there
at the edge of the water
with all the rest
and the fire carries the
feast and the laughter
and in the darkness
away from the fire
the unspoken griefs
that still
make togetherness
but then

just as suddenly
it has become a fireless
friendless
night again
and you find yourself alone
and you must speak to the stars
or the rain-filled clouds
or anything at hand
to find your place.

When you are alone
you must do anything
to believe
and when you are
abandoned
you must speak
with everything
you know
and everything you are
in order
to belong.

If I have no one to turn to
I must claim my aloneness.

If I cannot speak
I must reclaim the prison
of my body.
 
If I have only darkness
I must claim the night.

And then,
even in the closest dark
the world
can find me

and if I have honor
enough
for the place in which it finds me
I will know
it is speaking to me
and where I must go...

And though all the things I love
may pass away and
the great family of things and people
I have made around me
will see me go,
I feel them living in me
like a great gathering
ready to reach a greater home.

When one thing dies all things
die together, and must live again
in a different way,
when one thing
is missing everything is missing,
and must be found again
in a new whole
and everything wants to be complete,
everything wants to go home
and the geese traveling south
are like the shadow of my breath
flying into the darkness
on great heart-beats
to an unknown land where I belong."


It's 13 years later and still feels like it all happened yesterday.  It's still that vivid, so I avoid the news and the tributes on this day.  It was a day that pulled the rug out from under me.  My sense of safety shattered with every window.  My sense of truth that was once so big and strong deformed into an indistinguishable twisted mass of debris.   My sense of trust consumed in the flames I saw them jump from.  My most solid parts of myself were reduced to a strange grey dust.

I still hear that sound of lives ending.
It haunts me.
I don't blame them for jumping.
I don't blame them for my nightmares.
I understand that they would have died either way.
That.
I understand that.

The lucky fact that I'm still here to live - yes - and then the realization that I have come this far only to find myself with a 9/11 of a different sort to cope with.  SO different, and yet the suffer is so striking in it's sameness.  And just like 13 years ago, I didn't see it coming. 

Be grateful for whatever comes, I tell myself.
Be grateful for whatever comes.