yes. broken. on that day, my husband went to work, as every other day before THAT day. his subway crossed through the station under the WTC, he got off one stop later. he was just barely in his office, a few blocks away, when the first aeroplane hit the first tower. he called me on the phone, saying: watch the news. while we stood talking, me in front of the TV at home, the second plane hit. he saw it from his office window, he told me he could see a plane approaching, he said: this is no accident, this is terrorism.
i was frantic, told him to come home. he said he was leaving immediately. it was 9.05 AM. the phone connections went down. i didn't hear from him again all day long. i couldn't call him, no phone service. our daughters called from school: "is dad okay?" "yes, of course, i spoke to him just now". and so it went, all day long. family called from South Africa, his sisters, my sisters, my mother and father. everyone called except him.
at 8.38PM, he walked in the door. he was filthy, dust and soot clung to him, i could barely recognise him, my husband of 20 years at the time. his eyes told a thousand stories that his voice have never since spoken out loud. but he was home. after walking miles and miles, waiting for ferries, buses, walking some more, with thousands of others, he was home. we were luckier than many.
this gallery brought back so many memories for me.
