Remembering 9/11

23 years ago, I woke up and began my quotidien morning rituals, like millions of my fellow New Yorkers.

I walked to the 149th Street and Grand Concourse Station and grabbed the 2 train to Midtown and was at my office before 8AM, long before the rush of commuters arrived that would swamp the area for the rest of the work day.

As the morning went by and I enjoyed working in the stillness before the offical 9AM start time at the office, the quietness of the that time was punctured with a scream from one of the Senior VPs at the firm who had just arrived and raced to the conference room shouting, “AN AIRPLANE HIT THE TOWERS!”

The handful of early risers that were at the office with me each morning all jumped from their desks in unison, myself included, and we ran right behind him straight to the conference room where the TV was already on showing smoke billowing out of the World Trade Center where the plane hit the building.

We sat there in shock, debating the size of the plane that hit it. Was it a standard airliner or was it a smaller plane?

Then the unthinkable happened right before our eyes.

The second airplane slammed into the South Tower and it was at that very moment, I think, that any shred of “innocence” if you will, was forever lost to even the most jaded of us New Yorkers.

It was at that moment that the tears began to flow along with a panic that being in Midtown that we could be next given that it was an obvious attack.

A few minutes later, another colleague walked into the office and straight to the conference room and when she saw the horror of what was unfolding, she ran out of the office screaming, “MY FATHER! MY FATHER!”

Unfortunately, her father was one of almost 2,800 who perished at the World Trade Center as well as other colleagues who lost family members that day.

A half hour later, when the third plane crashed into the Pentagon, we were in full-blown panic mode. The FAA shut down the entire United States airspace ordering all aircrafts to land immediately at the nearest airports and forbidding international air travel from entering the country’s airspace.

Our biggest fears were coming alive before our very eyes: America was under attack.

And then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, the South Tower collapsed before our very eyes.

Less than thirty minutes later, as we’re all still glued to the TV in tears, the North Tower collapses.

Shortly thereafter, most of decided to leave and figure out how to get home as all subway lines had shut down and there was no way to get back to The Bronx except to walk.

I decided to walk to my best friend’s apartment in the West Village rather than trekking back home.

Everywhere I turned, as I made my way down 7th Avenue and saw the billowing smoke pouring out from the scar where the towers once stood, people were crying and seemingly strangers consoling each other.

When I got to my friend’s place on Bank Street, his brother who across from the towers had just arrived covered from head to toe in soot and toxic dust from the collpasing towers.

Later that afternoon, we went up to the rooftop of my friend’s apartment building and just watched the helicopters and listening to the neverending wailing of ambulances rushing back and froth between St Vincent’s Hospital which was just two blocks away.

And then one minute we’re staring at 7 World Trade Center and the next, we saw as it collapsed right in front of us as many of us just screamed in disbelief in unison with what seemed to be everyone else on rooftops who had just witnessed the same.

Eventually when the some subway lines reopened, I decided to make my way home to my parents. It was an arduos journey of taking trains that wouldn’t even leave me anywhere near home leaving me to walk several miles to my final destination.

When I got home, I collapsed into my mother’s arms in tears as she herself was crying. My father, who was a train operator on the 5 subway line, eventually made it home after being stuck in Brooklyn when the subways were shut down.

He had just pulled out of downtown on the 5 train that morning and when he pulled into Brooklyn, he was notified of what had just happened.

Who knows what would’ve happened had he been a few minutes behind.

These are the questions that lingered on many people’s minds.

If you didn’t live in NYC or were here, you will never comprehend 8:46AM on 9/11

You won’t understand what it feels like to spontaneously just cry your soul out.

You may have watched it on TV and read about it, saw the horrific images but if you didn’t live here or were in New York City when it happened, you cannot comprehend the trauma.

This isn’t to diminish your suffering.

This is simply a perspective; MY perspective on it during the past 23 years.

From hundreds of conversations (maybe thousands by now) with folks who weren’t near the areas or even region, I’ve been able to make this observation.

You just don’t really get it or comprehend the severity and magnitude of what we suffered that day.

We New Yorkers know with just a look and generally don’t need to put it into words.

Chances are you also don’t suffer from some sort of mental illness as a result whether it’s anxiety, depression, PTSD or any combination thereof.

I miss how we were so united afterwards. Sadly it only lasted for a brief moment.

Oh and never forget that people are still dying. Over 2,000 have died since 9/11 as a result of 9/11 related illnesses and over 10,000 first responders have been diagnosed with cancer.

And let us not also ever forget the innocent millions of civilians who lost their lives in Iraq, Afghanistan and other countries in the Middle East as we were led by lies to retaliate against these countries in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks.

Let us never forget the ensuing anti-Muslim hysteria that gripped the nation and the world that continues to have a lasting and damaging impact on their lives today.

Never forget any of it.