Seven years ago yesterday, I was running late for work and missed my express train to Grand Central Station. I jumped on the next train, arriving in NYC just after 9:00 a.m. and was taking my time walking down Park Avenue South and enjoying the beautiful, crisp day. When I passed by a local brokerage firm, there was a crowd watching a news channel on closed captioned tv, reporting that a small plane had flown into the World Trade Center. As we were watching, a second plane flew into the other tower. For some crazy reason, instead of turning around and running back to the station, I went to my office 4 blocks away. By them, all of the phone circuits were busy and I couldn't get in touch with my husband, who was in Connecticut. A friend was able to reach me and called him to let him know that I was not downtown. At that time, I spent most of my time out of the office in lower Manhattan, in court and taking depositions. Then that Pentagon was hit, train service was suspended and we were all transfixed by the events unfolding outsite our south facing windows. One tower fell and you could see the movement of the smoke. Then there was one. When that fell, we were shocked. For some reason, it didn't occur to any of us that the towers would fall. Train service started later that afternoon. We all piled into the streets, teaming with people covered with white dust. We were herded into Grand Central and told to get on any train and that they would be making all stops. We didn't know if we would get home safely. We knew that there would be many families waiting for someone who would never arrive back home.
When I arrived back in Connecticut, I went to my husband's office. He had picked up our 4 year old son Sam and they were both waiting for me. He was wearing his surgical scrubs and had copies of his NY and CT medical licenses and was waiting for word back to see where he was needed to help any of the burn victims, since he was trained in burn reconstruction. That evening, he spent the night waiting in the Burn Unit at Bridgeport Hospital ready to help with anything to aid victims evacuated from overflowing NYC hospitals. The next morning he returned home, saddened by the fact that there were no survivors to treat and that his help was not needed at the NY hospital where he trained. I worked from home for a few days and returned to NYC on Friday, where I tried to see if my friends and colleagues were ok and to see what I could do to help them out.
Mayor Guiliani united us and inspired us to plod on despite the incomprehensible tragedy. The national guard troops kept the city running and the markets open as the heroic rescue workers continued rescue and recovery operations.
For many months the fire smoldered, and we became accustomed to a new world.
NYC was on and remained on heightened alert. We all mourned and tried to carry on so that the sacrifice of the victims would not be in vain.
These are dangerous times. We need a Commander in Chief that we can rely upon. John McCain is that man. We cannot forget 9/11 or the brave rescue workers or the armed forces who put themselves in harms way to protect all of us...
