Remembering 9/11: A Personal Recollection

2001 was a long time ago. Back then I was a twenty-something enjoying a foot-loose and fancy-free single life in NYC and now I am a mom, wife and a homeowner in her early 40's back on Canadian soil. Times have changed.

Sometimes it is hard to remember things that happened over a decade ago. But we all remember the morning of September 11, 2001. Everyone can recall where they were and how they found out about the devastating terrorist attacks at the World Trade Center.

From 1997 to 2001 I lived in Brooklyn, New York and worked in non-profit arts. In 2001, I was working for the Lower Manhattan Cultural Council (LMCC), whose offices were in one of the low-rise buildings that were part of the World Trade Center complex and that ran an artist-in-residence program in one of the towers.

My WTC security pass and keys to my former office and the studios that I keep as a reminder.

I remember the morning of 9/11 like it was yesterday. Still in bed and half asleep, I thought about how that day I needed to get working on producing the postcard invitation to an upcoming Open Studios event for the artist residency program on the 91st and 92nd floors of 1 WTC.

Listening to NPR while slowly waking up, I heard an announcement that a plane had hit one of the Twin Towers. My first thought was, "Oh man, what idiot flew a prop plane into the side of the building?" as the skies over the city were always full of little planes and helicopters. I walked over to my window where I had a view of the Manhattan skyline off in the distance. I could see some smoke coming off one of the towers. While chatting on the phone with a friend about what we imagined was going on, I kept looking out my window. A few moments later, I couldn't believe my eyes as I watched a large passenger plane fly into the other tower.

I was bewildered. It honestly didn't occur to me that what I had just seen was an intentional act. I put on the TV to find out what the hell was going on and fielded the calls that started coming in from my friends and family wanting to know if I were at home or had already gone into work. When the towers came down, I watched on TV like so many around the globe. By the time I got to the window, all I could see over Manhattan was a huge grey cloud.

Over the following hours, days, weeks and months the reality and enormity of what had happened set in — for me, for my co-workers, for New Yorkers, for Americans, for people around the world.

Personally, I felt overwhelming disbelief. It was hard for me to believe that my boss had been at a breakfast meeting at the Windows on the World that morning and had taken what ended up being the last elevator that ever came down the North Tower. Hard to believe that one of the artists in the studio program died in the studios that morning. Hard to imagine what it must have been like to be in that building that I knew so well as it was torn apart by the impact of those planes. Hard to fathom the evils of the world that led to these events and senseless deaths. I avoided going downtown to see the wreckage. I didn't want to let it sink in.

About 6 months after 9/11, I decided to move back to Canada. Shortly after my move, a good friend emailed me a link to a story in the New York Times. It was an amazing article about the people who were trapped in the highest floors of the towers, pieced together from emails, voicemails and phone calls that came from these poor people before the buildings collapsed. The story revealed that in the North Tower, the stairwell between the 91st and the 92nd floor was a critical juncture. It was completely blocked. The people in the floors above all died. Those below had a chance to get out alive.

The summer before, LMCC had gotten a new artists space on the 92nd floor and I spent a lot of time moving furniture and stuff between our two studios on 91 and 92. Up and down that EXACT stairwell that marked the point that separated those who would live and those who would not. A chill went up my spine.

Reading the article, I was finally able to imagine everything and put myself in the place of the people that suffered that day. Sitting by myself in my Toronto apartment, tears streamed down my face and I let it in for the first time.

I came back to Canada because I'd had my fun in New York. I really wanted to be in a place where I could meet someone special, settle down, be close to my family and start a family of my own. And now I have done just that. I'm living the dream!

A while ago, my hubby borrowed a book from the library to read with our son. It was called The Man Who Walked Between the Towers and is a beautiful tale of the true story of Philippe Petit, the man who walked a tightrope between the twin towers of the World Trade Center before they were completed in the early 1970's.

At the end of the book, it simply says "And now the towers are gone." Reading this book with my son became a gentle segue for me to tell him that I used to work in those buildings, explain to him — in a vague and simple way — what happened that fateful September day. And it reminded me that a lot has changed in my life since 2001.

Hopefully a lot has changed in the world, too.