I was at home, my three boys were in school. My DH called me into the room to see the TV. Once it sank in, we ran to school to get our boys because we live near Stewart Military base and didn't know what was coming next. We knew we wanted our boys with us.
My DH, a Sergeant with the NYPD, was scheduled to work that day at 4:00. Word was out that all PD and other NYC service workers were to come into the city ASAP. I begged him not to go. Pleaded. He knew he had no choice, as well as knowing he had to help. As he left our house, my two ten year olds clutched him as he tried to get to his car. They knew some of what was happening and knew they didn't want their daddy to go there.
That was the last I saw of him for days. In fact, only once that week did he make it home. When he did, the smell that lingered on him was something I will never forget. Something you never think you will know. he reported that he didn't wear the face mask they were given because it didn't do any good. I remember at the time being very worried about that, but he could hardly speak for the few minutes he was home to shower and eat and take a short break, so I didn't voice my concern. That first night DH had to run from one of the other buildings that threatened to fall. I saw it happen on TV, but he called me right after to tell me he was okay. What I didn't know was that he had been covered head to toe in debris from running off the "piles" and everyone falling over each other . Like the men I saw on the TV. It was good I didn't realize that at the time. He describes ground zero, to this day simply as being in "HELL". He helped other officers in the "bucket brigade" which was the lines of rescue workers digging for whatever they could find. He also drove doctors to and from the site in the police car to get them where help was needed. He sobbed on the phone to me about what he was experiencing. He came home during the second week and told me he found a foot. It was horrible.
Three of his friends died in the towers. One a close friend. My DH has never been the same. His health was bad for a while, and he wound up needing an inhaler, but no longer needs it. He recently underwent medical testing to detect any potential health problems caused by being there during the rescue operation, but thankfully he is fine at this point. He is okay, better than some, but his views have changed and he is jaded and somewhat more cynical of our world. I try to remain optimistic about human nature, but because of what he saw and did he just doesn't share my enthusiasm so much anymore.
Today I was at the memorial in NYC and went to the site at ground zero. The names were read at the park across the street but they let some people in to see the memorial. I also attended last year. It was touching and painful. However, it is necessary. I fear that someday 9/11 will be reduced to some holiday and that what happened will be lost in translation in the history books. I hope that we never forget. Of course we should heal, but forgetting could put our our future generations at risk.
Anyway, that is my story. No worse or better than anyone else. It affected all of us in some way and that day will always remain in our memories.
