Those were some dark days. For everyone, yes, but even before 9/11…that was during my Hades servitude, before I hit my limit and threw down my two week notice like a woman downing her last shot of the night. Which means the day everything turned inside out in America I was earning a paycheck answering customer service calls and pushing paperwork. And that, now that I think of it, is a rather typically American way to pay the bills.
My friend and I shared a small office, cubicles facing each other, cracking jokes over the divider between calls. She played a local radio station in the mornings – one of those talk shows filled with random commentary on weird headlines – and it made the time pass faster. I’ll still catch that show today if I’m in the car at the right time, and I remember we thought they were joking when they announced a plane flew into the first tower. That makes no sense now. Who on earth would think that was funny? But really, at the time I simply didn’t have the bandwidth to imagine what was about to become our reality.
Some watched from afar as frightened Americans; others were living the terror firsthand in the attacks or desperately worried about their loved ones. We all carried our memories of that day forward into a new way of life, into a world of threat assessment and security measures.
But sometimes when I think back on that time, I remember the waiting.
A few days after 9/11 my company asked for volunteers to staff a hotline. They were preparing to run DNA tests on bodies recovered from the rubble and they needed employees willing to answer calls from people looking for their loved ones. It was such a tragic time, one where people living outside New York wanted to do something but found themselves stuck with CNN updates instead. Here was a way to help and I jumped at the chance. It seemed like such a simple thing.
But waiting for that phone to ring was excruciating. Waiting to talk with someone living a nightmare, preparing to listen to their unspeakable pain – anticipating each call was the worst because nothing I said even made a dent in their anguish. I had to accept that just answering was enough. I remember reading a book between calls, clearing my head of one person’s sorrow, making space for the next.
I joke about that job being a dark period, but I look back on those evenings with pride. It wasn’t much, but if it gave even one person a shred of hope to help them make it through then it was time well spent.
The worst morning of my life. For many of us, I think.
I remember wanting my kids HOME, my husband HOME.
I’m glad you helped that way. Imagine the relief of speaking to another human being who cares. Sometimes that’s the greatest gift we can offer.
I worked on post for Red Cross in a similar vein — for a short time. I had trouble coping emotionally and then more trouble accepting some requests were denied. Compassion, I have in spades, but being unable to help over and over, too much. My job requires some of that, but it’s not constant, which is better.
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Accepting limitations is impossibly hard, especially when there’s limitless pain right in front of you. And you’re right – I remember feeling exactly the same way. All I wanted was to have my people safe and sound.
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Sometimes, listening is enough. Just hearing a voice, the compassion, the caring. I’m sure it made a difference. You did a good thing.
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Thank you, Dan. There was so little good in those weeks afterward. I mean, there was good in that people were looking out for each other…but we were all so raw, you know?
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We lost a lot of people that we worked with, including one of our former employees. It was a time of very mixed feelings.
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Listening to those in trouble is a gift. You gave, Laura and I’m sure helped more than you know.
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It helped me at the time, too. It was hard feeling like there wasn’t anything we could do.
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Yes. Just listening is the greatest gift.
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It is. Sometimes it can be the hardest thing to do — so many people want to jump right in and fix things — but listening is enough.
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I’m one of those compulsive “fixers”. Sometimes I can help, but I’ve had to learn when to shut my mouth and just hear.
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You’re not alone!
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So, I can comment a bit on how well those hotlines did work, in easing emotional pain…at least for me…
So, as you know, I lost some family on that day. But, the first few days after, there was a lot of uncertainty. And we could not help but hold on to some glimmer of hope that, in all the chaos of that day, that maybe he had just gotten lost in the shuffle, and was unable to get ahold of us to tell us he was okay. In hindsight, it seems naïve to think this, but its all we had.
Anyway. After the events of the day, I was glued to the news, like most people. And I could not sleep much. This is when the news stations started using that scroll at the bottom of the screen, because there was so much to process. I would get a couple of minutes of sleep here and there, but I was too distressed about my uncle. Sam was an infant, and I remember holding her at around 3 am, watching the news. And that’s when I saw the number for the hotline to call, for anyone missing.
After putting her back to bed, I called the hotline. By this time, I was an emotional wreck, and I think that the wonderful woman who answered sensed that right away. I know that reports of Paul being missing had already been made, but I felt so helpless, I felt like I had to do something, anything. I ended up talking to this woman for about five minutes, about the events of the day, and about Paul. And at times, I felt like I was pleading with her to go find him, as she was in New York and I was far away in Maryland. Feels rather silly when I look back on it now, but exhaustion, both physical and mental, will do that to you.
18 years later, I wish I had gotten that persons name, so I can thank her for helping a stranger at 3 in the morning who was feeling nothing but despair. A few minutes of human connection did give me some momentary comfort.
So, yes, Laura, knowing you as I do, you should take nothing but pride that you did this. I have no doubt that you were a help, to any who were lucky enough to have you answer.
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John, you are so gracious to share your story here. I really can’t imagine what living through that time was like for families who lost someone. You’ve put a human face on what was Breaking News updates and stats for a lot of us, and that’s one more way your family continues to serve after they’re gone. You’ve done your uncle proud, friend. 💛
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Volunteering like that would have made such a difference to people is such a dark place. It’s sad that life comes to this. But that is life by its very definition.
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I can only hope. I remember thinking I didn’t have any answers for people who desperately wanted them – now that I’m older I understand sometimes just listening is what we do.
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