I was at my desk at work on that morning when my daughter-in-law called me to find out if I had heard anything about a fire in the World Trade Center. My son Howard, who was controller of Windows on the World, had told her there was a fire in the kitchen. That was the last time we heard from him. My officemate came in and I asked her if she had heard anything. She said no. Her husband called and told us they thought it was a bomb. I called my husband, Bruce. He turned on the radio at his office and told us that a plane had crashed into the building. My husband went home to watch the news on television. After a while my officemate’s husband called again and told us the second building was hit by a plane. At that time my boss called and told us to lock up the office and for her to take me home. The two towers then fell.
When I got home, people were at my house and we were hoping that our son got out, but he did not. My birthday is Oct. 24; on that day my husband called me at work to tell me he had a birthday present for me. I told him I don’t want a present. He said this one you want: They found parts of our son’s body, and we had a funeral.
I don’t know how I would have gotten through the first two months if it had not been for Rabbi Shmuel Goldin, family, friends, and the members of Ahavath Torah. We just couldn’t have done it.
I will never have closure. It is hard to lose a child.
My husband is a trustee of the memorial in Jersey City, and I am looking forward to that dedication.
I will never forget that awful day.