I don't think I can add much because I didn't stop to feel the horror. On that morning, I was in California, sleeping. The time was 3 hours behind New York. My mother woke me up at 6 a.m.. She said, "Something horrible happened." I woke up to see what every American saw on the television that day: the planes hitting the towers; people trapped in the 93rd floor; other people jumping to their deaths; the towers collapsing into an enormous cloud of dust. My 7th grade self's first reaction? Write down everything. Know it inside and out to tell everyone about it. I ran into my room with a notepad and a pen and scribbled down all that I heard. One thought going through my head was, "How shocked will everyone be when they hear about this?"
Looking back, I can't help but feel shame for how I acted. In the back of my mind, I always knew it was a defining, if not the most terrible, moment in our history. But it wasn't until the tour of the Tribute WTC Visitor Center this morning that really opened my eyes to the utter impact the tragedy had on each individual personally affected.
When we arrived, we looked around the exhibit before we left for our audio tour. I put on my headset, pushed play, and all of the sudden I was hearing the words of people who witnessed the calamity.
That was what hit me that hardest, because it was the first time I was really exposed to that. It was tough for me to hear. Listening to the voices of firefighters, construction workers, loved ones of those missing, policemen and survivors talk about what they experienced was more than difficult.
When we arrived, we looked around the exhibit before we left for our audio tour. I put on my headset, pushed play, and all of the sudden I was hearing the words of people who witnessed the calamity.
That was what hit me that hardest, because it was the first time I was really exposed to that. It was tough for me to hear. Listening to the voices of firefighters, construction workers, loved ones of those missing, policemen and survivors talk about what they experienced was more than difficult.
The hour-long audio tour had my Journalism class walking from Liberty Street over the West Street Bridge into the World Financial Center. There, we looked over the construction site where the Twin Towers used to stand. It was eerie, as if the ghosts of the survivors were hanging in the air alongside the gray mist of the rain.
At the end of the audio tour, we walked back to the Tribute Center. We looked at videos, photos and recovered personal items from 9/11. Then our tour group had a private interview with Tracy Gazzani, a mother who lost her only son. Tracy, 67, talked to her son Terry, 24, for the last time when he left the house and as he did every morning, he said, "Mom, have a good day. I love you." She looked out the window, thinking, "Gee, he has his whole life ahead of him." That was the last time Tracy saw her son.
After the visit, I realized I never had to sympathize with the pain of these New Yorkers. Hearing their stories changed my outlook. I was grateful for the experience. But mostly, it made me appreciative for what I have and the people I know and love.
