5 Years later....still My New York

To mark the 5th anniversary of September 11th, I thought I would share an email that I sent to all of my family and friends following the attacks. It is a very long post, so I will let it tell the story. The title of the message was "MY New York".....

As most, if not all, of you know, I moved to New York about a year-and-a-half ago and moved into the East Village of Manhattan in June. Many of you have written or called to make sure that I was safe and I want to thank you for your love and concern. In most cases I told you that I would write more later as I was understandably in a hectic state to reply to everyone and at least let them know I was "OK". Also, I didn't have the words yet to describe the impact of the tragedy. A week later, I think I am ready. Please bear with me (this message is quite long) as I try to salve the wounds and ease my own burden by getting this off my chest. First off, I was never in any danger during the catastrophe. I boarded the subway at Bleecker Street (about one mile from the twin towers) heading north to Grand Central Station about the time the first plane slammed into the first tower. I got to Grand Central and boarded the train to Westchester without knowing anything had happened. All of the sudden cell phones began ringing all over and the news was spread through the train car like wildfire. When the second plane hit, a sense of panic spread just as suddenly. We all knew that two planes crashing into the same building, the same day and near the same time is no coincidence. I am not ashamed to admit that I had the urgent need to call my mommy. I spoke with my mother and she updated me from Arkansas with information from the newscast. Throughout the 45-minute train ride people would shout out updates to the other passengers-- some true and some proving to be false. During the ride we discovered that we were one of the last trains to get out of New York before the lock-down began. Bridges and tunnels were shut off, no trains departed nor returned to the city, airports were diverting flights to Canada and it looked as if whichever stop you chose to take, you were going to be stuck there for the foreseeable future. I got to work and found my co-workers huddled in offices listening as the devastation continued to unfold. Then the realization hit me that the person I've been dating for the past couple of months worked in one of the buildings neighboring the towers. You can imagine my horror when the first and then second tower collapsed. It would not be until almost 8pm before we made contact with each other and I could breathe again. Needless to say, no work was done on Tuesday. Being a company that constantly travels, we were desperate to contact our co-workers and make sure they were all safe. By 10:30 we received the good news-- everyone was accounted for!! But we did not have any time for celebration as word spread of loved ones known to be in or around the buildings. Everyone seemed to know someone.I regret to say that out of the 5,000 people missing and presumed dead, I've counted 35 connections to my company (sisters, brothers, wife, cousin, close friends and two firemen that also volunteer at the same station as a few of my co-workers). Personally, I lost two acquaintences from my neighborhood bar. I would like to also share a story that you may have heard. This e-mail was sent by my friend, James thatworks in my department. There is a url attached to a story that is sure to bring you to tears if youhaven't heard it yet......."Jennifer Hurwitt (maiden name Glick) and her husbandDoug Hurwitt are friends of ours. Our friendship began at Union College. Many of you will remember Doug and Jennifer from our wedding in 1991. I was shocked to see the following story on MSNBC last week about Jennifer's brother Jeremy. This story will remain with me for the rest of my life. Please keep the Glick family, along with all the other families that have been forever affected by this horrible tragedy, in your thoughts and prayers." http://msnbc.com/news/629077.asp?cp1=1 Basically, we found out how small of a world thistruly is.I managed to get back to the city that night (it took a car ride to the North Bronx, two subways, a walk to 2nd Avenue, an over-crowded bus ride to 14th street and an eleven block walk to get there!) and discovered my apartment just as I had left it. Thankfully, the wind was blowing Southeast and I live Northeast. Tuesday night there was an uneasy quiet in my neighborhood. Traffic had been blocked south of 14th and the silence was deafening. Anyone that has ever lived in NYC can tell you that once you get used to the noise it is hard to sleep without it. I live on the same block as the Hell's Angels of NY motorcycle club and you can imagine the noise level as they ride down the streets with their Harleys! My office was closed on Wednesday and with nothing else to do, I wandered the streets. Not being able to donate blood and without an organized civilian volunteer effort established, I felt helpless. I ended up on the corner of West and Christopher streets where a spontaneous crowd had amassed to cheer on the rescue workers. It was quite a sight to behold. Every firetruck, cop car, ambulance, and even dumptrucks and forklifts were met with thunderous applause, signs calling them heroes and shouts of"thank you". Old Glory was taped, pinned, stapled, or strapped to anything that would hold it. Muscle-bound Chelsea boys, neo-punks, hippies, Wall Street brokers and even a homeless guy or two stood shoulder-to-shoulder to show these workers how much their efforts were appreciated. I was touched. I was raised in the South where the perception of NewYork is that you can be mugged or raped on the streets and no one will respond to your calls of help because they don't want to get involved. This is categorically false! On Thursday the volunteer effort mobilized in force. I was lucky enough to be allowed to direct incoming volunteers at the Jacob Javitz Center. I stood with a color-coded map and directed people to different staging locations according to what donations and/or services they offered. I watched as people came in from everywhere with whatever items were requested. The sheer volume of clothing (socks and underwear were the biggest need), water, canned food, masks, steel-toed boots, medical supplies (everything from O2 tanks to band-aids), cellphone batteries and chargers-- you name it, whatever was asked for people brought in. Corporations and individuals overwhelmingly responded. I watched a convoy of trucks from Maine bring in water, Canadians bringing care packages, fahsion houses donating clothing and (of course) the Red Cross with EVERYTHING, it was surreal. New Yorkers have and are responding to this crisis in a phenomenal way. I am going to paste a portion of a message that my friend Susan sent to me. She describes her impressions from visiting the city this week in a way that I can not...."Spontaneous shrines take root on sidewalks, streetcorners, in fences. Bases of statues erected to yesterday's heroes have been converted to testimonials of gratitude for the heroes of today. Bundles of flowers, letters of thanks, poems trying to sift sense into the terror mix with flows of multi-colored candlewax, absorbing street corners and telephone poles,making the mundane places holy. Paraffin tendrils of hope cling to the narrow tops of the traffic dividers around Union Square Park. Candles everywhere - lit,unlit, dripping unheeded; burned-out glass shells of spent wax stand in mute testimony to monumental loss. People move through the park, stopping to place a lighted candle amidst the sea of prayers and wax on the ground. People stopping to write messages on muslin sheets, to leave a piece of themselves on these massive murals of healing. A man sleeps on the ground, sprawled on a newspaper covered with images of destruction; a woman keeps the vigil even in her sleep, curled around the flames of hope which flicker in the ceramic pot next to her. The monuments are covered with our writing - pleas for peace and cries for justice scrawled side by side are a testimony to the freedom for which we are dying. The City is literally covered with flyers made by desperate families seeking missing members. Papers with wedding photos, people in birthday party hats, dancing, living. Every surface I see looks back at me; trashcans, mailboxes,light poles, construction vehicles, rescue vans. We who are moving through the streets stop to read every plea - to look into the eyes of the dead in their moments of greatest happiness. To honor their memory;to lend strength to their family's hope. These flyers have formed the most overwhelming of my experiences here. Forever in my mind will be this image: A massive conflagration obliterated the living and a heinous cloud of devastation blew their death into the air. Somehow they managed to re-emerge on every surface of the City, the faces of those forever missing. As it has always been in New York we represent every skin color, age, background, gender. We share only our indomitable, living, human spirit. I allow myself some healing in the thought that what we share is, by far, greater than that which divides us, and is a key to moving forward."
This is My New York. God Bless New York, God Bless America and God BlessYou All and thanks for allowing me to express my thoughts and feelings.