by Cathy Scibelli
It seems like yesterday I was sitting at my desk working on a research paper for a grad program when my husband Joe called me from his office in lower Manhattan.
“A plane just hit the World Trade Center.”
That simple statement began a day that is etched into my brain, my heart and my soul.
Hours of frantic phone calls to family and friends, the endless waiting to hear if loved ones were safe. Horrific images of smoke and fire, faces frozen with terror, bodies covered in soot. The immense relief of reunions as loved ones arrived home, and the gut wrenching sorrow at the news of those who would never return–the childhood friends, the members of our brother-in-law’s fire company, neighbors from my old hometown.
Life changed. Security checks became routine. We got accustomed to seeing soldiers on our streets and in our train and subway stations. Each morning’s partings took on new meaning and our cell phone batteries got a workout as we kept closer in touch. When a plane flies low overhead these days, we involuntarily look up and still find ourselves catching our breath for just a moment.
We Will Never Forget:
2,606 lost in the World Trade Center
125 lost in the Pentagon
40 lost in Pennsylvania aboard Flight 93
343 FDNY Firefighters
23 NYPD Officers
37 Port Authority Police Officers
Cathy Scibelli lives on Long Island and attempts to stay positive and maintain a sense of humor when writing about her life as a survivor of many crises, including a late stage breast cancer.