Dear Eve,

I know it is been impossible to get through by 'phone, thank goodness for e-mail. Thank goodness all my kids and your siblings decided to move away from NYC...I thought for a "better, cleaner, calmer life", I never imagined it would be for "life itself".

Last week you kept urging me to come to you (in Deerfield), "away from the stench of the burning towers" or maybe you meant the memories and the realities, now mixing freely. 

Initially, I could not...Staten Island was in "lock down", all means of egress closed. Then I could not, because my heart and soul had closed.

Tuesday morning 9/11 I was leaving for work (late as usual) and went to turn off NPR on my bedside radio. At that moment a news flash announced a plane had hit the WTC tower. " Wow", I thought, "how could that have happened", and left the house.

Shortly thereafter, traveling down Richmond Terrace towards the clinic, I could see the smoke rising from the damaged tower. The damage appeared to be on one side not too far from the top. The radio at that time was calling it an accident of some sort.

As I traveled along "The Terrace" which as you know, wraps itself around the shore line of Staten Island facing the "twin towers", I had either a full view, obscured view, or no view.

At one point, Manhattan disappears from my view, and the radio announced a the second tower had been hit, and seconds later, as I rounded another curve, I saw a huge fireball (much lower then the other hit), as it exploded in all directions. "Oh my God, this is not an accident!" was my first and only thought.

People were starting to come out of the various buildings, pointing and staring in amazement, all of us with mouths agape.

Driving slowly, with one hand to my mouth, I soon realized I was in St. George, and people were looking towards the waterfront, police, court officials, civilians all kind of frozen in time. Soon the sirens started screaming as fire trucks and police cars started to respond to whatever orders had been issued.

By the time I reached my office, I was in a total state of shock, and found myself sitting in my car trembling. I saw my colleagues surrounding a police officer, and finally was able to move to park my car.

It seemed to take me forever to walk from my parking spot to the office, and by the time I walked in, the towers had begun crumbling, and so had I.

It took me all day to locate Bill, but he is safe in Brooklyn.

I have alternated between feelings I can identify and feelings of not feeling.  The numbness is the most frightening.

Hour by hour, the list of missing grows and becomes closer.  Your first high school crush, his kid brother is among the first listed as missing. My oldest and dearest friend, his nephew, a young (22) fire fighter is next, Jonathan's friend Luke, lost his sister-in-law, Bills' colleague, lost her son-in-law.

The media takes over our lives, the photos appear, families try to reach each other, finding this impossible, the e-mails fly instead. Vigils began, sadly so does hatred.

Me, your mom, "a counselor, a mental health professional" trained to give hope to others, has none left to give, I stay home. But I can't come to you to hide, I must face this horror, I must begin to feel...something...something.  I know this as a professional, but as a human being, I know nothing...nothing.

Wait, I do know something, I know that killing others will solve nothing, but my voice is very small.

Thursday, I will return to my profession, and I know that will lift me, working in the "helping professions" avails me of many opportunities to heal...if healing is possible.

Thursday evening I will begin to design and develop a "new" program as a consultant for a Mental Health program targeting "traumatized adolescents", I think I will have my "hands full", I am waiting for my heart to catch up.

Love,
Mom

Sheila Brown Blei —  NYC  

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