Though nearly five years have passed since the horrific events of 9/11, it may as well have been five weeks. The memories remain all too fresh, as do the grief and dismay. Yesterday, as has been widely reported, New York City officials released the tapes of 1,613 emergency calls made as the towers burned. Among those calls was one from 32-year old Melissa Doi on the 83rd floor of the south tower. On the Washington Post website and many others, there is a link to an audio excerpt of this call. I felt compelled to listen to the call, and, as I did so, I became flooded with emotion and wept (again) for those poor souls who perished that day, and, in truth, for myself who bore witness to their fate and lost whatever shreds of innocence I had managed to retain in my 41 years. Not long after the towers had fallen to earth, I distinctly recall thinking that ‘things will never be the same’. They have not.

In 2001, one month to the day before everything changed, I was on an Amtrak train traveling from Philadelphia to Springfield, MA. I had journeyed in this fashion, to visit a dear old friend numerous times before. On this occasion, on a clear August 11 morning as the train sped towards Manhattan, the conductor made a point of directing the passenger’s attention to a lovely view of the World Trade Center towers across the water. I believe that was the first time that I had really paused to admire the twin towers. It was the last.

On the morning of September 11, I was at Powder Mill Middle School in Southwick, MA, where, in my capacity as a clinical social worker with a local community mental health clinic I worked as both a child psychotherapist and consultant. I was in the school guidance office when I first heard news of the unfolding tragedy. I went with the guidance counselor who had informed me to a room with a television, and, in horror and disbelief, we watched what would turn out to be the first of a great many hours of news coverage. Given the enormity of events and concerns about the impact of such on the students and staff, the school convened its crisis response team. As the towers crumbled and dust and smoke shrouded Manhattan, we hastily developed and then implemented a plan to disseminate information and reassurances, classroom by classroom. The experience was utterly surreal, as were the days that followed. Even now, as I recall that time, the feelings pinch my gut and fill my heart with sorrow.

We are all survivors.