Sunday, September 11, 2005


I can’t help but remember every detail of September 11, 2001. The crispness of the air—fall just starting to show up along the Hudson River; the fear as I huddled around the radio with my co-workers, not quite understanding what was happening.

I used to take the train to work, and at night when I would wait for the northbound train to Croton, I would admire the way the sun glinted off of the Twin Towers. Sometimes if I worked a little later, I would see them turning pink as the sunset reflected off of them. On September 12, I took the train to work, filled with fear and sorrow, clutching my Black Cow coffee and New York Times. I stood on the bridge that went over the train tracks, looked south, and cried as I watched the remains of the buildings smoldering. Manhattan looked like someone had pulled out two teeth—gaping holes remained where just the morning before the Towers shone proudly.

I was lucky. I was in Dobbs Ferry. I didn’t lose anyone in the attacks. But my life changed nevertheless. I lost a lot of trust in the world that day, lost a lot of innocence. I also gained faith in the people of New York. Never has a large community come together to take care of each other the way New Yorkers did four years ago today. I will always admire Rudy Giuliani for his leadership, and I will always love New York for being the greatest city on earth, filled with people of courage, strength, and compassion.

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