Ten years ago, I was your average fourteen-year-old freshman just starting the third or fourth week of school. Back then I was a wreck. I was nervous about starting all over again in a new school just after we moved to the Tampa Bay area from Hawaii and my parents had essentially separated. To make a long story short, I had trouble keeping my breakfast down some mornings since I was so stressed out about all these new (not bad, just different) changes happening in my life. I think I was also terrified of my first period Band teacher, so that didn’t help either.
That Tuesday morning I had been sick on the way to school (again) and we had gone home so I could pull myself together. We drove back to school an hour later–probably close to 9am–and Mrs. Lentini, the high school office woman who kept track of attendance, came out and waved us over, telling us to just go home. “Don’t bother, just go home today, Kaeli,” she said, not indicating that anything was out of the ordinary.
We got home shortly before 9:30am and were getting ready to watch “The Price Is Right.” I had gone into the other room to change out of my uniform and when I came out I saw the footage on t.v. Not knowing what was going on, I said something to my Mom like, “Oh, Wow! Cool! What movie is this?” She froze for a minute, then turned to me and said, “Kaeli, this is live. It’s happening right now.”
From that moment, until we had to pick my sister up from her middle school around 3pm, we were frozen there, watching everything unfold. From time to time we’d both panic, remembering which relative worked where, since nearly all of them live in the New York City area. We knew my cousin Erica was an NYPD police officer. We knew my Uncle Tom worked in the World Trade Center area, luckily in another building. We actually had a list going of all the relatives we knew could possibly be in Lower Manhattan that day.
We began to feel better as news piled in throughout the day and relatives called to let us know they were ok and they’d heard from other family members, too. Erica was safe at home, off duty. Uncle Tom had gotten out before things got nasty. Uncle Joe had actually had two appointments in the World Trade Center that day, but apparently my cousin had left her homework on the kitchen table and he was running late after bringing it into school for her. Other cousins had seen the smoke and turned around right away, watching events unfold from afar. For the most part, everyone was safe. Our family was lucky.
Later that night, after another round of calls from the family in New York, word began to spread that no one had heard from my Mom’s cousin, Billy. Just weeks before, we had had dinner with his father in Florida, and he had been so proud telling us his son worked for Cantor Fitzgerald in one of the greatest buildings in the world, the North Tower of the World Trade Center. As this recollection began to sink in, and we kept trying to find out his whereabouts, it became more and more clear what had happened.
To this day, I cannot even begin to imagine what his wife, sons, sister, and parents must have gone through. My heart continues to go out to all of them. I never had the privilege of meeting Billy, or at least if I did, I was too young to truly enjoy his company.
Ten years later I now live in New York City and often find myself wandering the Downtown streets after work or on a day off. I felt compelled to visit Ground Zero the day after Osama Bin Laden was killed, to absorb all the emotions that were coursing through me, to participate in the historic significance of it all. I saw survivors and families of victims alike celebrating and consoling each other. There were people waving flags and hanging posters of loved ones on the wall, telling reporters their stories.
September 11th will always be a day of remembrance for my family and many others. Please take some time to think about those who perished–whether they courageously tried to help others, or just happened to show up for work–or a flight–that morning.
Rest in peace, William A. Gardner. 9.11.01.
