TickleCrazy
TMF Expert
- Joined
- Aug 6, 2002
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A NYC mom's perspective
I was at home after dropping off both my boys at school and heard the news on the radio as it was happening. I watched the TV and prayed. I called all over the place looking for my family and friends. The towers came down on my TV screen. My first instinct was to gather my family together because they are all that matters. I ran to get my kids out of school before it became a mob scene. High in the clear sky flying paper glinted in the sun. I can never again look at a blue sky without seeing that image in my mind. Charred paper and blobs of gray ash fell everywhere. Foul smoke came on the wind and darkened the sky. It felt like the end of the world. At home I closed the windows and functioned as an information clearinghouse all day.
From his window on W. 57 St. my husband saw the second plane hit. He immediately left and was probably on the last train out of Manhattan before subway service was suspended. My mom tried to leave the city later and had to wait for transit to resume. She was safe with my uncle at his store in the Village. By mid-afternoon everyone was accounted for except my sister-in-law who worked in the WTC. Finally at the end of the day we heard from her. She and her friends had stopped for coffee and had gotten to work later than usual, thank God. As they were entering the building the first plane hit and glass and metal rained down. They ran uptown with the ash-covered crowd in the street. Eventually they walked over a bridge and found their way home. My sister lives in Virginia and heard the Pentagon impact 8 miles away. She works in the VA Hospital in DC that had the anthrax.
My neighborhood is full of widows of cops and firemen who were down at the scene and became victims. A whole street was closed to traffic for days and used as a parking lot for the constantly busy funeral home. My husband and I used to work in the financial district and knew many people there who were lost. I remember the magic of those first few days of the aftermath, when we who were alive simply loved each other, helped each other, and thanked God for each other. The outpouring of goodwill and generosity was more moving to me than the horror of destruction. I wondered how long it would be before crime and social evils like road rage would resume. Not long, I see.

I was at home after dropping off both my boys at school and heard the news on the radio as it was happening. I watched the TV and prayed. I called all over the place looking for my family and friends. The towers came down on my TV screen. My first instinct was to gather my family together because they are all that matters. I ran to get my kids out of school before it became a mob scene. High in the clear sky flying paper glinted in the sun. I can never again look at a blue sky without seeing that image in my mind. Charred paper and blobs of gray ash fell everywhere. Foul smoke came on the wind and darkened the sky. It felt like the end of the world. At home I closed the windows and functioned as an information clearinghouse all day.
From his window on W. 57 St. my husband saw the second plane hit. He immediately left and was probably on the last train out of Manhattan before subway service was suspended. My mom tried to leave the city later and had to wait for transit to resume. She was safe with my uncle at his store in the Village. By mid-afternoon everyone was accounted for except my sister-in-law who worked in the WTC. Finally at the end of the day we heard from her. She and her friends had stopped for coffee and had gotten to work later than usual, thank God. As they were entering the building the first plane hit and glass and metal rained down. They ran uptown with the ash-covered crowd in the street. Eventually they walked over a bridge and found their way home. My sister lives in Virginia and heard the Pentagon impact 8 miles away. She works in the VA Hospital in DC that had the anthrax.
My neighborhood is full of widows of cops and firemen who were down at the scene and became victims. A whole street was closed to traffic for days and used as a parking lot for the constantly busy funeral home. My husband and I used to work in the financial district and knew many people there who were lost. I remember the magic of those first few days of the aftermath, when we who were alive simply loved each other, helped each other, and thanked God for each other. The outpouring of goodwill and generosity was more moving to me than the horror of destruction. I wondered how long it would be before crime and social evils like road rage would resume. Not long, I see.




