I was 26 years old in 2001 working in the Philadelphia office of Marsh & McLennan. On September 11th, the first hijacked plane few directly into our corporate headquarters in the North Tower of the World Trade Center. I hold space for the hundreds of colleagues we lost and their families. In this post, I am sharing my memories of that day in writing and in video format.Â
Even now, 25 years later, there are still so many other memories past and present. One of my first husbands childhood friends from England was flying back from Peru and the plane landed in Newark as the Towers were falling. She managed to find his parents phone number and stayed with them and us until she could get back home.Â
The endless wars took their toll. I watched military friends burn out and become shadows of the people they once were and my best friend from high school's husband was killed in Afghanistan many years later in the seemingly endless wars.
I recorded a video talking about these experiences -- not for attention -- but for the sake of posterity so these stories aren't lost nor forgotten. This is not about me. Its about the trauma, loss, sadness, and rememberance.
Below are things I wrote on my old Livejournal about 9/11
2001-09-11: Â Life will never be the same again
My company has/had on office on the top floor of the World Trade Center, along with our sister company guy Carpenter and our AMEX travel dept. We still have colleagues from our office that were enroute to meetings in NYC. We have
clients, colleagues and business associates in the
World Trade Center.
We have a lot of friends in NYC. I hope they are all okay.
My heart goes out to them all.
I don't know what to do. I'm scared. I'm freaking out and people I talk to on a regular basis are most likely dead.
I can't stop shaking at least I've stopped
hyperventilating and crying.
How could this happen?
The worst part about this for me is that I have
recurring plane crash dreams that usually lead up to events that actually happening. These dreams started happening again this week. I watched every plane that flew overhead, scared that something was going to happen. Every time I smoked a cig outside my building in Center City, Philly, I kept thinking : what would happen if a plane crashed into one of the sky scrapers.
The last time I had dreams like this, was when flight 800 crashed.
Can't cope. Life will never be the same again.
2001-09-13: And all my dreams torn asunder
Our Company including 4 of our sister companies offices were destroyed. We had around 1700 people in both of the building. According to the last message left by the head of our office -665 are still missing. The same goes for an affiliate company of ours Aon. Also, I haven't heard word on the AMEX corporate travel people, aside from our receptionist who was friends with many of them being devastated. I imagine its not good. These were people I spoke to on the phone multiple times a week, if not day.
I have never been able to put faces and names to a national tragedy. Watching the news and seeing the scattered debris, knowing that there are things that I sent to that office in the debris. Dave posted a list that is being constantly updated with names, I actually saw the name of our of associated from Guy Carpenter that I have corresponded with.
I fear what the coming days will bring. I fear the image of 20,000+ coffins that could form a line from Dc to NY and then some.
Our office will be housing many of the displaced by this tragedy.
2002-09-10: September 11th: Reflections a Year Later
September 11th: Reflections a Year Later
I began writing this a few weeks ago reflecting upon the pending anniversary of September 11th. I apologize for the lengthyness.
The big question of generations past was Where were you when JFK was assassinated? Or Where were you when the Challenger blew up? Today, the question has taken on a new form – Where were you on September 11, 2001?
This is my account of an incomprehensible day in the realm of living history.
The day began when the alarm clock went off at 7am. Grudgingly, I arose against my druthers, showered and got dressed. I did not want to go to school or work, but I had to be at my painting class by 8:30am. We were having a critique of three monochromatic egg paintings. For reasons unbeknownst to me, I was overcome with panic and dread on the drive in to Center City. I got to school between 8:30 and 8:40am. The sun was shining – it seemed like it was going to be one of those perfect late summer days.
September 11th was a big day for Tim, this was the day that the website for the charter school went online – it was the first day of classes for some 2000 students.
I got to class and we hung our work and began the critique. I was sitting on a black metal stool trying to find something interesting to say about a multitude of boring egg paintings. We took a break at what I presume to have been between 9:30 and 10:00am. The class resumed and we began our still life painting for the day. One of my classmates, Ivana, returned from the break much later than everyone else and spoke to Vivian at the door, I was seated relatively close. I could hear the panic in her voice and the words she was saying. She said something to the extent of “Oh my god, did you hear what is happening?” She went on to say “I was watching the television in my studio – two planes crashed into the World Trade Center and one crashed in the Pentagon and another plane was presumed hijacked and missing in action.” I exclaimed “What?” She repeated what she had said. I then exclaimed “Oh my god, my company has people in there on tops floors of the World Trade Center.” I grabbed my cell phone and noticed that I had missed a phone call from my parents and from Tim. I tried calling Tim, but the lines were jammed. I asked Vivian if I could use the office phone and called our receptionist Donna to see if she had any more information. I called Tim and he wanted me to come home. I was starting to panic at this point in time.
I proceeded to leave class and run down to my office, which is two blocks away. I saw one of my co-workers outside of the building, he was dazed, and I asked him if he had seen my boss. He just stared blankly at me and shook his head confusedly. Once I got into the office I tried to find Sandy, my boss, but she had already left. I listened to a voicemail from the head of office explaining the situation and talked to a few people.
I called my mother and obviously I was upset knowing that we had presumably at the time lost a lot of people. It was at this point, that I remembered for a week or so prior having had another installment of plane crash dreams. This time was different; my dream was about a plane crashing into a building. Since, I have a history of recurrent plane crash dreams, they linger in my waking hours. When I would be sitting outside smoking a cigarette prior to the day’s events, I found myself consumed by the nagging question of what would happen if a plane or helicopter crashed into one of the skyscrapers. (I have had recurrent plane crash dreams off and on since around 1988. The odd thing about the dreams is that they have manifested usually in the locus of the eastern seaboard and some of the victims were local people. These dream happened before a plane crash that occurred outside of Pittsburgh in 1994, the TWA flight 800 in 1996 and the recent crash in Rockaway Beach. I can’t explain it. I don’t know why it happens.)
By this point in the day, my hysteria was worsening. I was panicked, crying, freaking out and hyperventilating. I headed back up to Moore and told Vivian that I was going home. I was shaking uncontrollably and having trouble speaking coherently. She didn’t think I was able to drive, but I insisted that I was and grabbed my stuff, left the painting that I had started in my bin and got to my car. I still had not seen any of the news footage. It was unbelievable. We were just in New York City less than a month prior to this. I turned on the news radio station KYW 1060. There was information. It was real. It was actually happening. By some act of guidance and grace I managed to drive myself home whilst screaming, crying, hyperventilating, pounding my fists into the steering wheel, chain smoking and gasping for air. I got home in less than an hour. I left early enough to miss the mass exodus of Center City. I ran through the door, threw my stuff down, ran downstairs and collapsed into hysterics. Tim B. was working with Tim trying to manage to get the school online and setting up a chat room with a psychologist for the students. Neither of them knew what to say. It was at this point that I saw the first images of the planes hitting, the smoke, the fire, people jumping from windows, debris fluttering through the streets of Manhattan, swarms of police and fire fighters, the Pentagon in flames, the crash sight in Pennsylvania, the towers collapsing, the terrified and solemn voices of news broadcasters, the dust cloud darkening all in its path and people running for their lives. The hysteria eventually passed and numbness ensued. Images repeated and the horror of the day would not settle in. This could not be real. This could not be happening. I have never smoked so many cigarettes in one day in my entire life. Sitting outside on a beautiful sunny day, it was hard to grasp the magnitude of such a ghastly event.
Reflecting on the tragic events and coming to grips with the uncomfortable association with them took a lot of time. Recognizing that there were documents and newsletters that I had sent to various colleagues at the World Trade Center – there were things with my name on it in the rubble and debris. I have never had any sort of connection to any world event and this was not one I wanted to ever bear witness to. I never felt so small, reduced to bits of paper and debris in the magnitude of such a disaster.
Everyone that was in the office that day had perished. One colleague or consultant was blown out of the elevator onto the 90th floor when the plane hit and managed to find some construction workers who broke down a wall to the stairwell and managed to escape.
As I came to discover in the passing days was that our office was located on the floors where the first plane crashed. Marsh & McLennan had close to 1900 employees in both towers. Everyone that was in the office that day had perished. One colleague or consultant was blown out of the elevator onto the 90th floor when the plane hit and managed to find some construction workers who broke down a wall to the stairwell and managed to escape. Sadly, we lost 295 colleagues and 30 consultants. Each day, we’d receive emails indicating the loss of life and all of the memorial services. It was unbearable. I had never met any of those people personally, but I corresponded with some of them on a regular basis, especially our corporate travel people. This tragedy had recognized voices and names. It had familiar faces. It had knowledge of those lost. I knew before we had the death toll that the outcome was grim at best. Considering Cantor Fitzgerald’s losses, ours could not have been much better – they were above the entry point of the plane. Our offices were on the 94th-100th floors of the North Tower (the plane slammed into the 94th-98th floors) and what disturbs me about that the most is when I saw the images of people jumping – those people could have been people whose names and voices were familiar. I do not know if they were or not. It is troubling to have to ask yourself that question. I try not to think about it. But the thought crosses my mind, that there were people who saw the plane coming towards the building. Did they try to run? Did they freeze up in fear or panic? What did they do? What could they do?
On September 20th Sandy and I went to New York to volunteer with the families of the victims. I knew this would be difficult, but as I had learned through my years working in healthcare, I shut off my emotions for the time being. I arrived in New York at Penn Station around 8am and walked up to the Millennium Hotel, which is close to our other New York office on the Avenue of the Americas. Seeing the faces of the family members trying to comprehend that there was nothing left of their love ones. That pain and suffering made it all real. I spent an hour or so in the conference room wallpapered in faces and names and information about those missing or dead. Some names I recognized and some I did not. I now had faces to match with names and voices. I contemplated going down to Ground Zero, but did not go. I could not go. I could not handle that trauma alone. The company arranged shuttles for the family members to go down to Ground Zero. Hearing stories of family members grabbing a hand full of ashes and debris because that is all that they had left of their loved ones broke me. None of the people located above the crash sites remains have been identified. Some were presumed to be vaporized or completely incinerated. I proceeded home in the afternoon and my numbness turned to anger and rage. My rage wanted war, destruction and revenge against those responsible. It took a long time for this anger to pass. It seemed to be at least a month before the War on Terrorism was declared. I was still angry and did not care if they had to destroy entire cities to get to those responsible.
Several months later, on a drive to Tim’s grandmothers house in Long Island we passed New York City. I said to Tim “Is that New York City over there?” He replied “yes” and I immediately burst into tears. I had finally come to the realization that it was real. I had not had a good view of the New York skyline when I went up in September since I was on the train.
A year has passed so fast and yet it seems like a decade has passed in the same time frame. I now know why my mother cries when she hears Taps because of the funerals she attended for friends of hers that were killed in Vietnam. I know why she cries because of the world events that happened during her youth in the 1960’s. Fear still lingers when I see a low flying plane flying over the city. This could happen again. This will happen again. The images render me to tears. I hold it in sometimes and other times I just fall apart. Knowing that the first plane that struck directly hit our offices makes it even harder to view.
Sometimes I don’t know if I will ever be okay.