It had been 2 months since I had my husband served with a restraining order and a friend and police officer removed his belongings and brought them to him at the Vista Fire Department. My son, 3 at the time, and I had fallen into a daily routine. I was 7 months pregnant with my daughter, and working full-time in Norwalk. Zach got his lunch from the refrigerator in our condo at Oakridge while I scrambled to find a pair of shoes that wouldn't pinch my feet. My cat, Daniel, meowed to go outside and join Schmooie, our other cat, for the day. I told him that he'd be out for the day, but he purred and meowed again. I picked him up, gave him a kiss and a hug and let him out. I refreshed the water and food for our third cat, then only a year and a half old, and Zach and I headed to the car. He buckled himself in, and we headed down Route 123.
At around 8:25, we arrived at Zach's nursery school, and I walked him in, gave him a big kiss and a hug. He said, "I love you, Mommy!" and then, leaning towards my belly, he said, "I love you Ariella! Poke the baby!" and he poked my belly. I patted him on the tush as he scooted away with his friends, Milan and Marlin. I toddled back into my car, now around 8:45 am, and I realized I was 15 minutes late for work (I wasn't really late by most standards, but if you arrived any time after my boss arrived, even if only a minute, there was hell to pay). Fortunately, my office was only a couple of blocks away. My boss, however, was viciously strict, and, despite a high-risk pregnancy, would revel in pulling me aside and screaming at me until her face turned red and colleagues would gopher to see what the commotion was.
I buckled in, listening the the rest of the Howard Stern Show, and drove until I pulled into the parking lot. Fortunately, I'd found a spot underneath a large tree not far from the entrance to the building. Just as I was pulling in, Robin Quivers interrupted Howard to say that a plane hit one of the Twin Towers. Though it was almost 8:50 am, and I was now sure that Allison was hovering near my cubicle, waiting to pounce, I stayed in my car. I wasn't leaving the car until I heard the rest of the story. And while Howard and Robin speculated it may have been a pilot who'd lost his bearings, or just a small plane, something in my gut told me it was different. I was getting the same vibe I'd gotten every time I'd heard about a suicide bombing in Israel. As I sat in my car, my left foot out the door, my radio turned up, feeling the calm breeze on my face, I listened to Howard and Robin intently while images of the Sbarro attack, the Dizengoff bus bombing in 1994 which almost claimed an ex, the stabbings of solidiers at bus stops while I'd been living in Jerusalem passed through my mind.
No, I don't care what the newscasters or listeners phoning in reported. This was purposeful. This was terror.
More and more co-workers were pulling into the parking lot, parking, and staying in the car listening to the radio. Some were gathering around one another listening to one person's stereo, others just stayed with the windows open, arm out the window, some smoking a cigarette, others holding their Starbucks out the window.
Moments later, the second plane hit the Towers, and people left their cars and went to their desks. I'd managed to gather all my things while I listened so I could close the door and run in during a commercial break and pick up the broadcast as soon as I got to my desk. As I waddled to the elevator, a stream of names and organizations started running through my head.
Arafat. Hamas. Al Quaeda. Gadaffi. Hussein.
I went to my desk, and ignored the blonde pixie who started to yammer in my ear about how she'd been at her desk for 20 minutes and I still wasn't in the office. I wanted to just stretch my right hand, cover her face and give her a good shove into next week. I said nothing. I mechanically turned on my computer, and, while Windows started up, thoughts ran through my mind.
If I were a terrorist, what would I go after? Ok. I made my impact on the financial center of the world. What else can instill the most fear and terror? Washington. Take out the leaders of the free world. Disney World - it makes sense. It's the happiest place on Earth, embodies American's need for overindulgence, filled with innocent children and families - the most unsuspecting victims, with the most tragic consequences. Chicago - the Sears Tower. The tallest skyscraper in the country, and not in one of the "capitals" of the country. Los Angeles. Take out the promiscuous harlots of celluloid.
As I continued my mental role-playing of where the terrorists would go next in trying to anticipate what's next, I tried to get onto CNN.com. Not surprisingly, the site kept crashing. As did NBC. All conventional news outlets for the Tri-State area were just a mess. Of course - broadcasting would have been affected with the antenna on the Tower damaged!
A reminder on my computer came up - I had to call in for Jury Duty - I'd been so excited about finally being called, and I had to call in! While I tried to find a news source, I dialed the number. But the line was beeping. It was disconnected. Not busy, but disconnected. I couldn't get through. Later, I would learn, the phone line reached an office at Ground Zero, and records for that day were permanently scrambled.
Finally, I tapped into an Israeli website that was streaming live coverage. Co-workers, including a fellow traffic manager whose cousin works in the WTC, gather around my cube, asking me what's happening. I was trying to give them information as it comes in, letting folks come into my cube at watch. Clearly, no work was being done. Spouses were calling one another - many of us had husbands or wives that worked in Connecticut, while the other worked in New York. Many looked relieved when they hung up. Others, panicked when they couldn't get through.
My cell phone rang. I had to do a double take. It was my ex-husband. He called to tell me he was leaving his temp job in Stamford, CT to go with the fire department to help at the Twin Towers. Departments from all over were being called in, anticipating major fire control as well as medical emergencies, and he was heading down. Things were bad between us, but he was still the father of my children. I told him to call me every hour to let me know he was ok. He said that he would, and to let Zach know he loved him. I told him I would.
By then, the Pentagon had been hit, and reports that all flights have been grounded, and an inventory was being taken of remaining flights in air was taking place. Supervisors and HR had told us that we were allowed to go home, if we needed to. Many of us didn't know where else to go. I didn't want to leave. I knew where one baby was, my daughter, and my other was happy at nursery school. I didn't know what panic might be on the roadways. I was still afraid that Stamford might be targeted, because it was home to UBS & RBS and Gen Re's headquarters. Zach was safe. I was safe. And I didn't know what was next.
Could a chemical attack be next from one of the planes still in the air? Biological warfare? No one had claimed responsibility yet. If it was Saddam Hussein, it's not unrealistic to wonder if such an attack could be next. I started putting together a list of all things I had at home in case Zach and I needed to bunker down. I'd need water, but we had a full pantry. I wished we had gas masks readily available as they had been when we were in Israel when Kuwait was invaded (we weren't trained with them, but I knew they were around).
Human Resources announced via email that the conference room was set up with live broadcasts of the situation. Many people went home, but I felt I shouldn't disrupt Zach's day and make him upset before I knew more. I joined my colleagues in the conference room, with my cell phone, and watched. The majority of the broadcast was focused on New York, with occasional shots of the Pentagon. The damage to the Pentagon paled in comparison to the Twin Towers. My phone rang. It was the Red Cross. They wanted to know if I could get to a New York location to donate blood - I am O-negative. I cried when I explained that I couldn't help because I was pregnant, but I wanted to so badly, especially as I watched footage of bloodied men and women leaving the Towers.
We watched the plumes of smoke and then, almost missed with the blink of an eye, one of the Towers disappeared. It fell in on itself. In a strange way, it was beautiful to watch, and horrific at the same time. Visually, without registering that it was a building, with hundreds of people still trapped, it was quite striking. Yet, when you factored the reality of the lives being lost, it was overwhelming. We wept.
And as I sobbed, my daughter kicked, and squirmed, and rolled. I hadn't eaten anything all day. I hadn't had anything to drink. I rubbed my belly, feeling for her feet and hands, and when I found them, I poked them. She reacted. She was safe.
Word came across about a plane crashing in a field in Pennsylvania, supposedly en route to the White House or Congress. Reports were that there were still some flights in the air, but airspace is being closed. I hear from a friend that a mutual friend has a private helicopter and that he is flying around NYC.
I realize it had been quite some time and I hadn't heard from my ex-husband. I call his phone. There's no answer. I call again, and the line is beeping with that same disconnected tone. I call his mother, and she hadn't heard from him. I told her where he was headed. We realize that he had enough time to get to the Towers before the first collapsed. Panic sets in.
I pull a friend aside and tell her that, ironically, I can't stand him, but I'm worried. As we chat, the second Tower collapses. I try him again. And again. And again. And nothing. I call the fire house in Vista, and they say he never showed up there. I call the other department he volunteered with, and they report that, yes, he had arrived, his car is in the lot, and that a couple of crews had headed into New York City. I ask if they'd heard from them, and they said they hadn't yet.
I can't stay at the office anymore. Now, I just want to curl up with my son, my cats, and cuddle on the sofa knowing everyone is safe and in one place. Only a dozen or so people are left. I hug my friends goodbye, and pack up to go home. I call my parents on the way to Zach's nursery school. I tell them we're fine and that I was picking him up.
I drive around the corner, and run up the stairs and through the doors. I bypass the mean teacher who tries to block me as I run to Zach, pick him up, give him a huge hug. I prop him up on my hip, ask one of the teachers to hand me his stuff, and without his feet touching the ground, I carry him and his stuff to the car. I put him down, get his stuff in the car, and I give him another hug. He tells me his guts are coming out of his nose. I laugh, and put him in the car seat and I tell him that I love him. I put an Enya CD on, as I didn't want to listen to the radio and panic him, and we drive home. He tells me about the wonderful day he had, and I smile and tell him how happy I am.
We pull into our parking space at our condo and go inside. Zach starts playing, and I start packing an emergency bag in addition to my delivery bag. I pack up Cheerios, water, formula, raisins, a first aid kit, duct tape, and other items, and set it next to the master bathroom, which would make an ideal safe room.
With my paranoia quelled, I go into the living room where Zach is building blocks, building towers. He'd learned to use the remote control, and had tried to surf the channels. I put it on Nickelodeon and start to make dinner. In my room, however, I have CNN on. I excuse myself every couple of minutes to catch updates - another building had collapsed. No more planes are in the air. Giuliani has spoken to New Yorkers. The mayoral primary would be rescheduled. Death toll ranges from several hundred to several thousand. Emergency rooms and hospitals are completely empty. All that preparation to treat the injured, and no one has come in. Which means that there aren't many survivors.
I came back out to have dinner with Zach. Zach asked why I was acting funny, and why I was disappearing into my bedroom. I explain to him that, though we have nothing to worry about, a terrible thing happened and some planes were flown by some very bad men and they crashed into some buildings. I'd been watching the news in my room. He asked if he could watch, and I told him it was very scary to watch, because they keep showing the scariest parts over and over, but that it was all over now.
He asked to call his father to make sure he was ok. I told him I'd been in touch with his dad, and that he'd let us know when he was home. While Zach went to brush his teeth, I tried to call my ex-husband. No answer. I called his fire department. They had no sign of him. Some of the guys think he was on the truck on the way to New York, but the teams that had gone down had returned. Without him.
He was missing.
I put Zach to bed, and I ran into my room to watch CNN. I was looking for any sign of my ex-husband. I was hoping someone had claimed responsibility. I watched for a couple of hours and then I fell asleep.
At some point, I was awoken by the sound of men's voices coming from the living room. In a panic, I ran, checked Zach's crib. He wasn't there. I ran into the rest of the condo, and I saw a flicker in the living room. It was the television. And Zach, sitting in front of the TV like a scene out of "Poltergeist," watching CNN. I asked him what he was doing. He explained he was looking for his daddy, and that he was afraid that the buildings went "boom" on him. He pointed at all the "toot-toot-woo-woos" (fire trucks) crushed under the rubble. He showed me every fireman in the stills the news was showing that could have been his father. He asked if his daddy could be hiding. I told him to follow me, and we curled up in my bed together, with the news and television off, and slept until morning.
----
It wouldn't be days until I heard from my ex-husband again. He had, indeed, gone to the other fire house to go to New York. However, when he was lounging around waiting for people to head out, the trucks left without him. So, he found a quiet room in the basement and fell asleep there. He then had a friend pick him up and crashed at his place for a few days and then realized he'd forgotten to call us to tell us he never made it to Ground Zero.
That was also the last morning I'd ever see Daniel again. After I let him out for the morning, he never returned. I loved that cat. He was in good health, sweet and loving.
That was also the last morning I'd ever see Daniel again. After I let him out for the morning, he never returned. I loved that cat. He was in good health, sweet and loving.
