On September 11, 2001, I was off from work and decided to sleep in. As is the case when I don’t have anything else to do, I slept until about 11. That is when the phone rang. It was my doctor’s secretary saying my appointment for a routine physical had been cancelled and she didn’t know when I could reschedule. I asked her, “why not?” Her reply; “Have you turned on your television at all today?”
I turned on the TV and to my horror saw the two main towers of the World Trade Center crumbling to the ground. I knew none of my family or friends were in that area, yet still I was speechless. My first thoughts turned to the thousands of people who might have been in those buildings and then to who and why.
About 10 minutes later, I got another phone call. This one was from the woman I baby-sat for. She said that she and her husband were all right, but because of the tragic events they were stuck in Manhattan and could I be there when their kids got home from school.
The children came home, knowing their parents were all right, but it didn’t stop them from asking a million questions, most of which I couldn’t answer. Then a thought occurred to me. If these kids are that frightened and upset, what are the kids who lost somebody like and who is around to answer their questions?
Over the next couple of days I looked online for ways that I could help. I’m not particularly strong and I’m not the bravest person in the world, but having worked for The Boys and Girls Club and in various rec. centers and camps since I was 15, I knew I could do something. About a week later, a doctor and family friend who worked for South Nassau Communities Hospital called me and told me about the 9/11 Family Center they were opening in Rockville Centre.
The Center, as it would be come to known, started out as a place for anyone affected by 9/11 to come in and talk to a psychiatrist, social worker, or crisis counselor for free. It was also just a place where they could drop their kids off for a while and maybe even get them to talk to somebody.
For the next eight months I volunteered, almost eight hours a day and it was nothing like I thought it would be. My expectations were of depressed kids and kids crying out of control, but on the surface, just days after losing a loved one, these kids seemed like normal kids. Over my time there, I would learn that kids grieve differently than adults and I would have to interpret their behavior to find out who was more affected than others and who needed someone the most.
One child who stood out to me the most was a 3 year old boy whose father was a fireman. For confidentiality reasons, I can’t use his name. However, this young boy seemed to me to be absolutely oblivious to what had happened. For days I thought he didn’t know or understand what it meant that daddy wasn’t coming home.
Then one day his mom said she was going to get something at Rite Aid and would be right back. She wanted to know if I could keep an eye on him for 20 minutes, I said no problem. Literally two minutes after his mother left, he ran to the back to show her a picture he had made. When he didn’t see her, he said “Where’s mom?” and I told him she went to the store and would be right back. He dropped the picture, grabbed hold of me as hard as he could, and just let out the most horrific scream you have ever heard and then broke into tears. This wasn’t just your typical baby crying; this kid was absolutely terrified, and it was then I realized, not only does he know about his dad, but he must think the same thing just happened to his mother.
There are dozens of stories like that, but as the months went by and things started to settle down, so did the kids and their families. They will never be over what happened, but the initial shock of the situation had worn off and we started planning trips and events. Eventually I would receive a paying job and become the Youth Activities Director, a position I held for the next three years.
Those kids started out to me as a random group of victims that I was trying to help, but they became family members. Every time they cried, I wanted to. Every time they felt pain, I felt it. Working there wasn’t just another job. For the first time in my life, I feel like I was actually making an impact on the life of another human being. It was a feeling I have tried to duplicate in my everyday life, but so far I haven’t been able to. While I feel really good about myself for having worked there and for everything I did, it wasn’t about me and if I could, I would trade it all for the lives of their loved ones back or even to just give them the chance to say goodbye.
I turned on the TV and to my horror saw the two main towers of the World Trade Center crumbling to the ground. I knew none of my family or friends were in that area, yet still I was speechless. My first thoughts turned to the thousands of people who might have been in those buildings and then to who and why.
About 10 minutes later, I got another phone call. This one was from the woman I baby-sat for. She said that she and her husband were all right, but because of the tragic events they were stuck in Manhattan and could I be there when their kids got home from school.
The children came home, knowing their parents were all right, but it didn’t stop them from asking a million questions, most of which I couldn’t answer. Then a thought occurred to me. If these kids are that frightened and upset, what are the kids who lost somebody like and who is around to answer their questions?
Over the next couple of days I looked online for ways that I could help. I’m not particularly strong and I’m not the bravest person in the world, but having worked for The Boys and Girls Club and in various rec. centers and camps since I was 15, I knew I could do something. About a week later, a doctor and family friend who worked for South Nassau Communities Hospital called me and told me about the 9/11 Family Center they were opening in Rockville Centre.
The Center, as it would be come to known, started out as a place for anyone affected by 9/11 to come in and talk to a psychiatrist, social worker, or crisis counselor for free. It was also just a place where they could drop their kids off for a while and maybe even get them to talk to somebody.
For the next eight months I volunteered, almost eight hours a day and it was nothing like I thought it would be. My expectations were of depressed kids and kids crying out of control, but on the surface, just days after losing a loved one, these kids seemed like normal kids. Over my time there, I would learn that kids grieve differently than adults and I would have to interpret their behavior to find out who was more affected than others and who needed someone the most.
One child who stood out to me the most was a 3 year old boy whose father was a fireman. For confidentiality reasons, I can’t use his name. However, this young boy seemed to me to be absolutely oblivious to what had happened. For days I thought he didn’t know or understand what it meant that daddy wasn’t coming home.
Then one day his mom said she was going to get something at Rite Aid and would be right back. She wanted to know if I could keep an eye on him for 20 minutes, I said no problem. Literally two minutes after his mother left, he ran to the back to show her a picture he had made. When he didn’t see her, he said “Where’s mom?” and I told him she went to the store and would be right back. He dropped the picture, grabbed hold of me as hard as he could, and just let out the most horrific scream you have ever heard and then broke into tears. This wasn’t just your typical baby crying; this kid was absolutely terrified, and it was then I realized, not only does he know about his dad, but he must think the same thing just happened to his mother.
There are dozens of stories like that, but as the months went by and things started to settle down, so did the kids and their families. They will never be over what happened, but the initial shock of the situation had worn off and we started planning trips and events. Eventually I would receive a paying job and become the Youth Activities Director, a position I held for the next three years.
Those kids started out to me as a random group of victims that I was trying to help, but they became family members. Every time they cried, I wanted to. Every time they felt pain, I felt it. Working there wasn’t just another job. For the first time in my life, I feel like I was actually making an impact on the life of another human being. It was a feeling I have tried to duplicate in my everyday life, but so far I haven’t been able to. While I feel really good about myself for having worked there and for everything I did, it wasn’t about me and if I could, I would trade it all for the lives of their loved ones back or even to just give them the chance to say goodbye.
On behalf of all those terrified kids, Thank you.
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