This was first published at c u l t u r e k i t c h e n:
today was like any other day.

it was a beautiful day, just as it was two years ago. blue sky, gentle breeze.

the kids were romping and jumping. we took time to play, time to read and time to learn. the house was a mess, we were running low on groceries, and the kids were getting antsy. so we picked up a bit, i left the kids in the playground with our neighbors while i went to the store.

it has been just a day like any other day. still, evan asked:

"are they coming back?"
"is the empire state building still sad?"

this day, two years ago, i was feeling a bit tired, a bit disoriented and, well, a bit lazy. september 10, 2001 marked out first day of homeschooling. i had this great week planned out for our official first week. i had decided not to go to the observatory, just to keep things simple, and just go to the empire state building because it was closer to us.

the "observatory" was the top of world trade center #2.

this year, two years ago, we heard a loud boom. not a sonic boom, but a boom louder than the one a truck would make after hitting a pothole. i thought "that must have been one helluva big truck".

minutes later our baby-sitter walks in and says, did you notice one of the towers is on fire? although we are on a tall building in the east village, we face north. i had to go up to the roof to check it out. i did and came back and we put the tv on. and as the news anchors are trying to make sense of the information being fed to them and the image that was on the screen, the second plane hit. all us saw it, even my kids.

all hell broke loose.

we just could not believe what we were seeing. we rushed to the roof. people were screaming from the tops of other roofs everywhere. other could be seen rushing out the emergency exits, running down the streets. everybody was looking up, to the southwest, trying to make sense of what was going on.

i kept on saying, where are the rescue helicopters? where are the airplanes and helicopters dousing the towers with water? how can they expect firemen to put out that fire? look how big it is, look how red. jesus, look at all the paper and that smoke. oh boy, the wind is blowing it to brooklyn.

there were sirens e v e r y w h e r e. at that point traffic had not gone crazy. there was still space for ambulances and patrol units and fire engines to zoom up, down and across to the scene. the kids were confused: they saw the fire but, thinking of firemen and their hoses and seeing all the commotion, they thought that what was happening was actually exciting.

the fire looked like it was going to go on forever. we thought, well, we'll hear about it on the news, so went downstairs to further simplify our day and just spend it at the playground. then the unthinkable happened.

we got jolted by the howling screams of a neighbor who, to this day, has remained anonymous. this man's screams, no, howls came from the depths of his soul. they sounded as if it came from a creature whose everything had been wrenched out of them in a single blow. we will never forget that man's screams.

"THEY ARE FALLING.

THEY ARE FALLING.

GOD.

NO.

PLEASE.

THEY ARE FALLING."

i just jumped. Evan would not leave my side. i left the little one with Mark and took the big guy with me and as we are coming out to the roof, we saw the second tower disappear in a mushroom cloud. i felt like somebody had punched me in the stomach so hard that i had no air left in me. had i not been holding my son, i think i would have fallen -- i seem to remember a hand. holding me. it was evan's reaction what really that brought me back to the moment:

"mommy, the airplanes, they are going to hit my 'city'. mommy, they're going to hit us, mommy, please, our building is going to fall down."

it was the first time i was not sure what to answer. it was also the first time that i remember crying in front of any of my kids.

back inside, we all tried to calm down. my little one was little enough that i was still nursing. there is such a meditative quality to nursing that no matter what happens around you, time seems to slow down and melt away. and so i nursed him.

outside : there were people and cars and buses and helicopters, motorcycles, ambulances, patrol cars and fire engines on every single inch of asphalt along First Avenue. every single uniformed police, cadet, soldier, national guardsman, every single one of them were on the street that day. the level of noise that morning and all through dusk was unbelievable.

and the smoke, was now everywhere as well.

Bena, our baby-sitter, is amazing at being the calm in the middle of the storm. while Mark and I caught up with emails and phone calls, she took the kids to the playground. the day came and went and by the afternoon, we were outside, with the rest of nyc, it seemed, at our park and playground. every single person that had a child was in our park and playgrounds. even childless people were there, trying to regain some sense of normalcy. then, the day came and went. we went back in, had our dinner and called it a night.

Evan was 4 when the towers collapsed. that night, i remember, he called the Empire State Building "my city". he can see the building through his bedroom window and wishes it a good night before going to bed. 9/11/2001 was different. the ESB went dark for the first time ever in my son's short life. he was worried that it too was going to be attacked and wiped-out. so i told him that it was sad and in mourning because it had lost its best friends.

"will it get its light back on, mommy?"
"eventually."
"why?"
"if your best friend disappeared and you knew you would never see him ever again, would you know when you would stop feeling sad?"
"no, not really."
"well, it will take the Empire State Building, your city, a while before it is not sad anymore. but one day, when it feels better, it will get its lights back on."
"will it be soon mommy."
"i hope so."

after 9/11, my son stopped talking about his "city". he became very interested in the names of buildings: Con Edison, Chrysler, Met Life, New York Life, Empire State Building. we would go to the roof to check to see if the fires and smoke were getting any smaller and to "make sure all the other buildings were there." also, it was just too much to believe, to get adjusted to the lost skyline. and it seemed like days, probably weeks went by before we saw the decorative lights back on most buildings again, especially the Empire State Building.

i think it was sometime around christmas the lights came back on. i called the kids to the window: "the lights are back on. look Evan, the city is lit up". to which he replied:

"not the city mommy. that's where we live, THAT is the Empire State Building."
"oh sorry".
"thats OK."
"pretty, huh?"
"yeah ... so, that means it's not sad anymore."
"i guess so."

now, two years later, my son remembers the story and asked me same question : "are they coming back?"

"no, the towers are gone. they are not coming back ... wow! you still remember."
"is it still sad, mommy?"
"what do you think?"
"hmmm. it's a little bit sad. it still misses them."
"i guess so. i do too."
"me too mommy. me too."