09-12-2008, 03:45 AM
I remember the day well. I was in San Diego. My son, Josh, then 26 years old, worked near the towers. He used to ride the subway to work from the village and walk the last few blocks. He phoned me in distress. He had seen the explosion on the first tower. Phones were down immediately locally but he could call out long distance. I flipped on the TV and related news to him as it came in. He spoke with me as he watched the second plane crash into tower number 2. Said it was like watching a Stephen Speelberb movie.. then that he wanted it to be a movie... Josh told me that the WORST part was hearing the bodies hit the cement as they jumped from high in the building.
He also then called me every day. The spirit of New York blossomed as in the rubble and dust people reached out to one another. Everyone walked in masks for weeks to breathe. Strangers on their stoops would offer a drink of cool water or coffee to pasers by. I remember that Josh had just bought a pair of expensive boots and he gave them to a fireman. He said that as the firemen worked at the site, they would walk out with their shoes smoldering. They changed shoes and socks every couple hours. Locals piled boots and socks up in bins marked with size. Everyone gave what they had. His descriptions gave me hope for our future, belief in my fellow man. His stories kept me doing what I do... living life... believing that things will be better if we all help one another...
Just ramblings of a crazy mom....
He also then called me every day. The spirit of New York blossomed as in the rubble and dust people reached out to one another. Everyone walked in masks for weeks to breathe. Strangers on their stoops would offer a drink of cool water or coffee to pasers by. I remember that Josh had just bought a pair of expensive boots and he gave them to a fireman. He said that as the firemen worked at the site, they would walk out with their shoes smoldering. They changed shoes and socks every couple hours. Locals piled boots and socks up in bins marked with size. Everyone gave what they had. His descriptions gave me hope for our future, belief in my fellow man. His stories kept me doing what I do... living life... believing that things will be better if we all help one another...
Just ramblings of a crazy mom....
I want to be the kind of woman that, when my feet
hit the floor each morning, the devil says
"Oh Crap, She's up!"
hit the floor each morning, the devil says
"Oh Crap, She's up!"