On September 11th, 2001 I went to work with a heavy heart and a mind full of problems. I had recently left an extremely abusive marriage with my two small toddlers, rejoined the workforce and was fighting huge financial difficulties and depression. I can remember getting up everyday and putting on a brave front to the world and hiding behind a face with a plastic smile. I held behind that facade years of pain, frustration, alienation, and sorrow until September 11th at 8:45 AM when I watched in a crowded break room as the second plane hit live on TV. I can remember the silence in the room and a low moan from someone. One lady shook her head and covered her mouth with her eyes wide in terror. I felt my knees buckle a bit before I caught myself and then the tears came. The entire day was full of shock and tears — suddenly in a fraction of an instant my entire focus shifted away from myself and all my worries. How could my life’s woes be anything compaired to all those lost? My self-pity and loathing was nothing compaired to that loss. My worries for my future shelved as I had little to worry about as I had a loving family that I was going home to — and I cried harder thinking of those children who would never see their family members ever again.
That night I went home watched the television until I couldn’t bear to see the horror any longer and laid in bed and prayed — prayed for all those families, for the rescue workers, for everyone who couldn’t ask for help. Even a year after it all happened I still cry in private for all those lost — and try to help wherever I find the need without holding any of what I am back.