We arrived in Newark, NJ, en route to Staten Island on October 8. At the airport, we were greeted at the gates with soldiers in full fatigue, armed with shotguns. Jenny and I were irritable and tired as soon as we stepped off the plane (that�s what you get for partying it through with Kitty and Comedian until you leave for the airport at 3:30am). We were already fed up with Mom, her incessant and unnecessary chatter, the stupid questions, the extreme melodrama. We didn�t realize then just how this all may be affecting her. She grew up here, this is her family too. Just because she deals with it in a different way doesn�t mean we should attack her like we have been. So now, when one of us notices another sister snapping at mom for whatever retarded thing just came out of her mouth, we catch that sister with our eye and silently remind her that mom is going through pain just like everyone else. Why multiply it?

We got to my cousin, Jane�s, and I encountered her husband, Roger in the kitchen. A few minutes after saying hello, he just started talking about it all, almost like he was remembering things out loud, as if I wasn�t there in the room, listening to his innermost thoughts and feelings. This is what he said, �That night, you know, the day it all happened, we gathered up here, me, Neil, & John, to go and bring Jeff home. We were sure we were going to bring him home. I even got a cold six pack I put in the truck, so that we could celebrate after we got Jeff out of there. We got down there, and it was horrible, like nuthin� you�d ever seen before. We couldn�t see through the smoke, the smell was indescribable. John was everywhere, he went into the holes and climbed where we weren�t supposed to climb, he just kept calling out Jeff�s name and saying, �I know that he�ll come out, if only he can hear my voice, if only he can hear his brothers calling for him.�

�At one point, on the second day, and we�d been working around the clock, we found 20 dead firemen. Neil went to help out in another area, he couldn�t bear to turn over a dead man and have it be his brother. We passed them down like in an assembly line, into body bags, checked each one for Jeff�s badge. It�s different when you find a fireman than any other casualty at Ground Zero. When a fallen fireman is found, a whistle is blown and an eerie silence falls across the entire area. A flag is wrapped around those body bags. I came across a man�s hand, sticking straight up from the rubble like from a horror movie, and it had a wedding ring on. That was one of the times I broke down in tears.

�All of the rescue workers� eyes burned from the dust, and the only physical relief from that pain was the emotional pain that came in waves from working at Ground Zero. It was expected to be working for hours and then just walk away for a moment alone to weep. Emotion overtook me randomly.� Roger's eyes were watering when he relayed all this to me, and I was to have my first eye spillage for the week out here. Far from the last, I'm sure.

There were 25,000 people saved that day. Yes, a horrendous amount were lost to us, but 25,000! Most of those people were saved by the very heroes who lost their own lives that day. Stories have been surfacing about Jeff, that first team of firefighters in the building. He and his friend were at the front of the line when they reached the 40th floor, having RUN the entire way up with all of their gear, and the people who were running in the opposite direction actually stopped to cheer for these heroes who just kept running back up and in, over and over, saving as many people as possible until their own lives were given in the collapse.

This has not been an easy few days. Aunt Carol went to Ground Zero yesterday, they took her to Jeff�s firehouse (firehouse 10) which lies between the two towers, across the street. She was doing fine, with some of her children, my father and their sister, Diane. Until they found a fallen fireman about 20 feet away from her. It wasn�t Jeff. But I think the process, the bell ringing, the flag-encased body bag, all of it was just too much for her.

Tonight, we�re all helping to write the eulogy and put together a collage of pictures for the wake tomorrow, for we have no body. We�ve been laughing and sharing stories of the sarcastic and hilarious bag of laughs Jeff was for us. It�s hard for me to describe here just how funny this guy was, the facial expressions, the strange tones of voices he could create just to get a point across. He just never seemed to be serious. I�m happy that through the tears and anger and stinging pain of loss, everyone here can stop intermittently to tell another funny Jeff story that leaves us all in hysterics. I guess that�s the way it�s supposed to be.

I went to Ground Zero today. Took the ferry from Staten Island and walked into the city and right to the wreckage with my sisters and my father. It was horrifyingly sobering. As the ferry got closer to the city we no longer recognized, I could feel our emotions intensifying tenfold. And when we got there, to the firehouse area, to the wreckage, the recovery site that used to be our city, we all broke down. We walked around the city all day, into the evening, and here we are, preparing for the wake tomorrow and the services on Friday. Bagpipes and white doves and �Taps� and speeches. And I thought I was emotional NOW.

I�ll try to keep you updated. Right now, I can hear laughter going on in the next room, and I want to know which "Jeff story" I just missed.

-Barbarella

previous | next