Last time on the Cat Who Swallowed the Canary I was having a moment at TEDx Savannah. I was on the precipice of discussing a little known fact about myself. When I ended my engagement with my first fiancé (yep, I kept the ring) I moved back to Brooklyn, New York from Rome, Italy. I worked hard to build a new life in my hometown mostly confident I had made the right decision. I landed my first job in finance. The job was stressful. There was a steep learning curve and the first tech bubble had just popped. I made time to date and create a robust social life. My cousin and shared a smashing apartment in a trendy neighborhood in Brooklyn with a sweet commute.
My boss at the time, let's call her Roxanne, was a stickler about time. It did not matter how late we stayed to get work done; at a few minutes before 9:00 am Roxanne made the rounds through our maze of cubicles to make sure we were in our seats. Late arrivals were not tolerated. My last Tuesday in the office began with a start. I slept through my alarm, and was running ten minutes behind. I pulled myself together quickly and bolted for the train. I was close to making up the time, when the train stopped just before it entered my station. Unbelievable! When the doors opened I slipped out with my eyes focused on getting through the turnstile. That is when I noticed a colleague from another department. He was rushing into the train. The expression on his face gave me slight pause, but then I thought about Roxanne staring at my empty chair in the meeting and regained my momentum.
I climbed the stairs out of the subway two at a time. At the surface I checked my watch. It was 8:55. It would take me another three minutes to get to the 33rd floor of WTC 2, but there was smoke and what I thought was debris coming out of WTC 1. I called Roxanne to tell her there was an incident and I would be late, but I could not get through. I know now from trauma therapy that I went into shock as my brain tried to protect me from the horror that was people making the awful choice to jump out of the windows of the highest floors of WTC 1. I continued to make my way to the building when the second plane hit. I was less than a block away. The ball of fire the explosion created was so big and so hot that I could feel the heat on my on the side of my face. There was a collective scream from the hundreds of us on the ground, and then a stampede of people running at me. I hid in a small space between buildings until there was a clearing. Then I ran.
I made it home to Brooklyn just before the Towers collapsed. I saw the ball of fire for weeks after in my nightmares. I worked for a large firm with an even larger parent company in Hartford, CT. With our headquarters destroyed, our fearless leaders decided to relocate us to CT.
When the dust settled we were asked to document the belongings we had in the building at the time of the attack. We were reimbursed with very few questions. With everything that had happened it was difficult to remember everything in my desk. In the end it did not matter much. Creating the list more than anything triggered survivor's guilt. I was wracking my brain trying to remember if I left my sweater on the back of my chair or not while others had lost their lives. It was a difficult process to work through, but being in Hartford helped. The distance created a much needed buffer.
Having survived together, my colleagues and I were tightly bonded. We recovered together in a sort of cocoon. We had shared this singular experience. One which very few people could understand. When I left the company five years later my anonymity and individuality returned. It was a relief to forget. September 11 anniversaries came and went. Fewer people knew I was there that day. It receded into the background of my life.
I was the guest speaker on base in Italy one year during the memorial, but was so triggered that I stopped talking about it for another few years. Then TEDx Savannah came up on my radar. This year the event is being held at the Savannah International Trade Center. I tried my best not to say the name of the location because every time I said it, I said world trade center. In this year of living authentically I recognized the Freudian slip. Instead of ignoring it I embraced it. In my correspondence with the Nick, the volunteer organizer, I told him I was there that day. He mentioned it at the first volunteer session. I knew there was a chance he might, but I was unprepared to speak about it with strangers. I faltered a bit. My apprehension is rooted in my desire not to profit in anyway from the lives that were lost that day. I honor them when I live. When I pursue my dreams. When I am fiercely authentic in my life that was spared on that tragic day. I survived that day, but I thrive everyday after.
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