Artie Van Why's Blog
September 22, 2011
After the Anniversary . . .
As a 9/11 survivor, no longer living in New York City, each anniversary of that dreadful day in September is problematic for me. By my choice, I live in a city where there is no one else who knows what it was like to be in New York that day, let alone knowing what it was like to be in front of the twin towers.
The weeks leading up to each year’s anniversary are fraught with a self-imposed strict expectation to honor the day, and the lives lost, in a proper way. There is no Ground Zero to go to here in Lancaster, PA. (Up until this past April I had not been able to go back to New York). For some of the anniversaries I have figuratively just held my breath and anxiously waited for the day to come and go. For most of them, the apprehension and depression start weeks before. From the beginning of this year I was thinking ahead to this year’s 10th anniversary. What could I possibly do that would sufficiently bring the proper remembrance to such a significant day?
And now, a week after the anniversary, I am grateful for the opportunities I was given to publicly remember and recognize both that day and my place in it. I shared my story through newspaper and television interviews. Radio listeners in both Singapore and Australia heard it in my own words. I was given the honor of having a reporter and photographer from the BBC spend the day with me here in Lancaster; that resulted in my story being on the BBC’s website. I spoke to 1,800 high school students and a local Rotary Club. I was able to bear witness of that day during the three worship services at my church on the day of the anniversary; as well as at a memorial ceremony held in Lancaster.
The attention, though, is somewhat bittersweet. On the one hand, I’m glad that people want to know what it was like to personally live through the terrorist attack. Even after ten years, it is still so important to me to tell my story; by any means. That is why I wrote a play and a book. I feel it is the least I can do to help assure that we, as a country, never forget; especially for the generations to come. I also feel that, as a survivor, it is the least I can do. It is what I’m called to do.
The most fulfilling moment this year was speaking to the teenagers who were mere children in 2001; who have vague memories that “something bad� happened that day. They were so respectful and attentive as they listened to me. Teachers told me they had never seen the students that quiet at an assembly. You literally could “hear a pin drop.� When I finished speaking, they stood and offered their applause; which moved me to tears. As I came down from the stage some of them came up to thank me; a few with tears in their eyes; all with true sincerity on their faces. I will never forget this one boy, blond, short and husky, who could barely get the words “thank you� out. I hugged him and he just cried. I realized, then, that they truly wanted to know about the day that was to change their world before they were even old enough to know it.
But now that the anniversary is over, the attention has ceased. There are no more questions being asked. No more tributes being held. Life goes on; as it should and must. I, myself, have gone back to my usual routine. The one difference, perhaps, between most others and myself (and other 9/11 survivors) is that I will still be thinking of 9/11 every day. I expect it will continue this way throughout the rest of my life. I will still have moments when I feel the extreme sadness from a grief that lingers. The images of that day will still come to mind unexpectedly. The memories remain vivid. I am moving forward with my life but that doesn’t mean I can forget.
I write all this just to ask that you be aware that we, the 9/11 survivors, are still healing. We were drawn onto a battlefield that day and so many of us are still rebuilding the lives that were shattered because of it. There are the families that will always grief over the loved ones they lost that day and we should be ever mindful of them. But we survivors also grief for our lives, as we knew them, that were taken from us that day. Luckily, for most people, they respectfully and consciously will only have to remember 9/11 once a year. For those of us who were there we remember every day.
The weeks leading up to each year’s anniversary are fraught with a self-imposed strict expectation to honor the day, and the lives lost, in a proper way. There is no Ground Zero to go to here in Lancaster, PA. (Up until this past April I had not been able to go back to New York). For some of the anniversaries I have figuratively just held my breath and anxiously waited for the day to come and go. For most of them, the apprehension and depression start weeks before. From the beginning of this year I was thinking ahead to this year’s 10th anniversary. What could I possibly do that would sufficiently bring the proper remembrance to such a significant day?
And now, a week after the anniversary, I am grateful for the opportunities I was given to publicly remember and recognize both that day and my place in it. I shared my story through newspaper and television interviews. Radio listeners in both Singapore and Australia heard it in my own words. I was given the honor of having a reporter and photographer from the BBC spend the day with me here in Lancaster; that resulted in my story being on the BBC’s website. I spoke to 1,800 high school students and a local Rotary Club. I was able to bear witness of that day during the three worship services at my church on the day of the anniversary; as well as at a memorial ceremony held in Lancaster.
The attention, though, is somewhat bittersweet. On the one hand, I’m glad that people want to know what it was like to personally live through the terrorist attack. Even after ten years, it is still so important to me to tell my story; by any means. That is why I wrote a play and a book. I feel it is the least I can do to help assure that we, as a country, never forget; especially for the generations to come. I also feel that, as a survivor, it is the least I can do. It is what I’m called to do.
The most fulfilling moment this year was speaking to the teenagers who were mere children in 2001; who have vague memories that “something bad� happened that day. They were so respectful and attentive as they listened to me. Teachers told me they had never seen the students that quiet at an assembly. You literally could “hear a pin drop.� When I finished speaking, they stood and offered their applause; which moved me to tears. As I came down from the stage some of them came up to thank me; a few with tears in their eyes; all with true sincerity on their faces. I will never forget this one boy, blond, short and husky, who could barely get the words “thank you� out. I hugged him and he just cried. I realized, then, that they truly wanted to know about the day that was to change their world before they were even old enough to know it.
But now that the anniversary is over, the attention has ceased. There are no more questions being asked. No more tributes being held. Life goes on; as it should and must. I, myself, have gone back to my usual routine. The one difference, perhaps, between most others and myself (and other 9/11 survivors) is that I will still be thinking of 9/11 every day. I expect it will continue this way throughout the rest of my life. I will still have moments when I feel the extreme sadness from a grief that lingers. The images of that day will still come to mind unexpectedly. The memories remain vivid. I am moving forward with my life but that doesn’t mean I can forget.
I write all this just to ask that you be aware that we, the 9/11 survivors, are still healing. We were drawn onto a battlefield that day and so many of us are still rebuilding the lives that were shattered because of it. There are the families that will always grief over the loved ones they lost that day and we should be ever mindful of them. But we survivors also grief for our lives, as we knew them, that were taken from us that day. Luckily, for most people, they respectfully and consciously will only have to remember 9/11 once a year. For those of us who were there we remember every day.
May 10, 2011
On the death of bin Laden
Sunday, May 8, 2011
I witnessed the magnitude of bin Laden’s evil. On 9/11 I stood in the street watching the north tower burn; running for my life when the second plane hit the south tower. I saw people die that day. There were moments when I thought I might die as well. My life was irreparably changed because of him.
When the news of his death became public I sat in my apartment in downtown Lancaster watching the television; my hand to my mouth, becoming aware I was holding my breath. Seeing all the people gathering at Ground Zero, I felt so alone. I imagined there was a collective sense of unity among them, remembering what we felt, collectively, as a city on 9/11. There was no Ground Zero for me to go to here.
So I sat on my couch; anxious. Anxious because everything about 9/11 was coming at me in full force. And anxious over what the retaliation would be.
The next day, and those following, I was numb; detached from emotion. Throughout the week I kept thinking "why aren't I feeling anything?"
And then six days later I went to my weekly therapy session. The moment I sat down all those feelings I questioned not having came pouring out and I started sobbing.
I was crying because the memories of 9/11 were as vivid as if it had just happened. I was crying, once again, for all the lives that were lost that day; my grief as raw as it was the weeks and months after 9/11. I was crying for the world that was taken from us that day. The world where we thought we were safe. And I was crying for what was taken from me on 9/11; my enthusiasm for life; replaced with a broken spirit and interminable sadness.
I cried because I'm glad he's dead and justice had been served; so they said. But, for me, the justice was too quick. His life ended too easily; too quickly. But what would have been more just? A public hanging? Have him stand before every single one of us who were there that morning along with those who lost a family member, friend or colleague that day? And then what? Stone him? I cried because no matter what we might do to make him suffer it wouldn't be enough. I cried because even the most horrible punishment imaginable would still not be sufficient when compared to what he did. I cried because I have never felt this much hatred towards someone. And I cry because even my hate doesn't fully express all that is inside me when I think of that man.
I cried because I'm scared. Because I know this war on terror isn't over by any means. I'm afraid for what will happen next. I fear for the city I love and am no longer living in. I fear it'll happen somewhere else; where we might least expect it. And when it does happen I know I will have to once again relive my memories of 9/11.
I cried because, for me, nothing has changed. I will still have to live every day of the rest of my life with the memories. He's dead and I'm glad. But his death won't heal me. And I know that someone else will take his place so I imagine that, at least for the rest of my life, I will live in fear of "what's next". I cry because I know that's what they want. I cry because we haven’t won. Not yet. And I fear we might never.That Day In September
I witnessed the magnitude of bin Laden’s evil. On 9/11 I stood in the street watching the north tower burn; running for my life when the second plane hit the south tower. I saw people die that day. There were moments when I thought I might die as well. My life was irreparably changed because of him.
When the news of his death became public I sat in my apartment in downtown Lancaster watching the television; my hand to my mouth, becoming aware I was holding my breath. Seeing all the people gathering at Ground Zero, I felt so alone. I imagined there was a collective sense of unity among them, remembering what we felt, collectively, as a city on 9/11. There was no Ground Zero for me to go to here.
So I sat on my couch; anxious. Anxious because everything about 9/11 was coming at me in full force. And anxious over what the retaliation would be.
The next day, and those following, I was numb; detached from emotion. Throughout the week I kept thinking "why aren't I feeling anything?"
And then six days later I went to my weekly therapy session. The moment I sat down all those feelings I questioned not having came pouring out and I started sobbing.
I was crying because the memories of 9/11 were as vivid as if it had just happened. I was crying, once again, for all the lives that were lost that day; my grief as raw as it was the weeks and months after 9/11. I was crying for the world that was taken from us that day. The world where we thought we were safe. And I was crying for what was taken from me on 9/11; my enthusiasm for life; replaced with a broken spirit and interminable sadness.
I cried because I'm glad he's dead and justice had been served; so they said. But, for me, the justice was too quick. His life ended too easily; too quickly. But what would have been more just? A public hanging? Have him stand before every single one of us who were there that morning along with those who lost a family member, friend or colleague that day? And then what? Stone him? I cried because no matter what we might do to make him suffer it wouldn't be enough. I cried because even the most horrible punishment imaginable would still not be sufficient when compared to what he did. I cried because I have never felt this much hatred towards someone. And I cry because even my hate doesn't fully express all that is inside me when I think of that man.
I cried because I'm scared. Because I know this war on terror isn't over by any means. I'm afraid for what will happen next. I fear for the city I love and am no longer living in. I fear it'll happen somewhere else; where we might least expect it. And when it does happen I know I will have to once again relive my memories of 9/11.
I cried because, for me, nothing has changed. I will still have to live every day of the rest of my life with the memories. He's dead and I'm glad. But his death won't heal me. And I know that someone else will take his place so I imagine that, at least for the rest of my life, I will live in fear of "what's next". I cry because I know that's what they want. I cry because we haven’t won. Not yet. And I fear we might never.That Day In September
Returning to Ground Zero
Thursday, April 21, 2011
I moved to Lancaster, PA in September of 2003. I did so without much deliberation, which was surprising because I never thought I’d leave New York City. It had been my home for 26 years. But I now had, what was to me, a very significant reason to leave. I wanted to be closer to my parents. After living through, and surviving, 9/11 my family became a top priority to me.
I’ve been here in Lancaster for seven years and I have not been back to New York City in all this time. My excuses have been that I didn’t have the money or the time. But, truth be told, the thought of going back for a visit was too overwhelming. There was a resistance on my part; an avoidance to be sure. To go back to New York would be to go back to that day in September; 9/11. I knew that if I were to go into New York I would have to revisit Ground Zero and I wasn’t ready to do that. Life has been difficult enough living with the memories away from the city. I was afraid of reliving them if I were to go back to where they had taken place.
I’ve also been oppressed with shame and guilt over having left the city; in spite of the reason why I did. When I left New York City it was still recovering and healing from 9/11. As irrational as it may seem, I felt I had abandoned the city; comparable to distancing myself from a family member in a time of crisis.
I do regret that I have let the memories and remorse keep me away from the city I love for these seven years but perhaps I haven’t been ready; until now.
I’m finally returning to New York; specifically to Ground Zero. And, like my move to Lancaster, this decision took no deliberation. One day in March, after leaving a therapy session, I suddenly just knew. It was time. My therapist and I hadn’t even discussed my going back during that session, but I knew I was ready. And I knew when I wanted to make the trip back. I wanted to do this for my birthday, which is Monday, April 25. This would be my gift to myself. It somehow seems appropriate. And right.
So this Friday, the 22nd, my parents, sister and I are going to board the train in Lancaster and go into New York.
I’m not sure what I think when it comes to the “timing� of moments in one’s life. I don’t know if I can believe things happen when they’re supposed to. Or that everything happens for a reason. If there is a spiritual or cosmic connection to how the circumstances of our lives play out, I don’t understand it. I have been asking myself these questions for the past ten years; as I try to come to an understanding of how, and why, the events of 9/11 happened and why I survived and others didn’t.
I can’t ignore, though, what has transpired over the last three months.
The past year has been difficult emotionally; as if I’m only now allowing myself to fully grieve and mourn over all that was lost the morning of 9/11. Maybe I haven’t been ready to express just how deep the sorrow inside me is until now; as the tenth anniversary approaches.
It’s terribly lonely living in a place where there is no one else who knows what it was like to be in New York City that day. As much as they might try, no one can truly know what I go through each day. I do have my therapist and she at least understands the effects of post traumatic stress, so that is helpful. Her office has become my refuge.
I hesitate to share my emotions with my parents because I know they worry enough about me already. And they have their own memories of that day as they watched the television; unable to reach me.
For a number of years, after moving here, I searched often for organizations or support groups for the survivors of 9/11. What I did find was always for the families who lost someone. But never anything for the people who were the eyewitnesses and survivors of that day. I finally stopped looking.
And then, at the beginning of this year I found a group, “Voices of September 11�. Once a month this organization provides a teleconference session for survivors; facilitated by a therapist. I have participated in three of them up to now.
Then, about three weeks ago, a friend from California called to tell me of a website someone told him about; “World Trade Center Survivors Network.� Through that group I have found another survivors support group on Google Groups.
For seven years I have never been in contact with another survivor of 9/11 and now I’m speaking with, and writing to, a number of them. I can’t describe the tremendous comfort and solace I receive in having people in my life now who know just what I mean when I express a feeling or a thought; not having to explain myself. And the emails they send could have been written by me; there’s that much clarity and understanding when I read them. I sense new friendships beginning already because of the kinship we share in our collective experiences of 9/11.
The puzzling thing is that these groups have been around for years and I am only now becoming aware of them. My therapist suggests perhaps I wasn’t ready until now. Is this yet another example of those cosmic questions?
So this Friday, once in New York, my family and I will go to Ground Zero. We plan to go after the work day hours; early in the evening. I know that it is a construction site now; with evidence of new buildings but it is still sacred ground to me. I want to stand where I stood that morning. I want to remember, and acknowledge, those who died. For whatever reason, it’s important for me to retrace my steps of that morning with my family; that they might have a better understanding of what it was like for me. That will be on Friday.
Then Saturday morning we are going back to Ground Zero to visit the WTC Tribute Center, which is near by. One of the people I’ve been emailing with, Brian, is going to meet us there. This will be the first time I’ll be able to look into the eyes of someone who witnessed what I did and we’ll not have to say a word to convey our stories to one another.
We will come back to Lancaster Saturday afternoon. This weekend isn’t about visiting the city but about reclaiming the place it’s had in my life and heart. It’s about returning to pay long overdue respect to all who died. I was unaware of this being Easter weekend when I made this decision, but do not take lightly the “timing� and the symbolism of rebirth and rebuilding and the affirmation of life.
At the end of both my play and my book I wrote “to honor those who are gone, I will not forget to live.� I am sorry to say I have not always kept that promise since leaving New York. At times it seems I’ve forgotten it completely. 9/11 changed my life, as I knew it, forever. I am not the same person I was on September 10, 2001. Perhaps none of us are.
From the recent exchanges I’ve had with other survivors I know I will never “get over� what happened that day. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to move past it. But I can move forward; just as the city I love is doing. To move forward is not to forget. I realize that now.
And now perhaps I can write “to honor those who are gone, I will not forget to rebuild and reaffirm my life and to move forward.�That Day In September
I moved to Lancaster, PA in September of 2003. I did so without much deliberation, which was surprising because I never thought I’d leave New York City. It had been my home for 26 years. But I now had, what was to me, a very significant reason to leave. I wanted to be closer to my parents. After living through, and surviving, 9/11 my family became a top priority to me.
I’ve been here in Lancaster for seven years and I have not been back to New York City in all this time. My excuses have been that I didn’t have the money or the time. But, truth be told, the thought of going back for a visit was too overwhelming. There was a resistance on my part; an avoidance to be sure. To go back to New York would be to go back to that day in September; 9/11. I knew that if I were to go into New York I would have to revisit Ground Zero and I wasn’t ready to do that. Life has been difficult enough living with the memories away from the city. I was afraid of reliving them if I were to go back to where they had taken place.
I’ve also been oppressed with shame and guilt over having left the city; in spite of the reason why I did. When I left New York City it was still recovering and healing from 9/11. As irrational as it may seem, I felt I had abandoned the city; comparable to distancing myself from a family member in a time of crisis.
I do regret that I have let the memories and remorse keep me away from the city I love for these seven years but perhaps I haven’t been ready; until now.
I’m finally returning to New York; specifically to Ground Zero. And, like my move to Lancaster, this decision took no deliberation. One day in March, after leaving a therapy session, I suddenly just knew. It was time. My therapist and I hadn’t even discussed my going back during that session, but I knew I was ready. And I knew when I wanted to make the trip back. I wanted to do this for my birthday, which is Monday, April 25. This would be my gift to myself. It somehow seems appropriate. And right.
So this Friday, the 22nd, my parents, sister and I are going to board the train in Lancaster and go into New York.
I’m not sure what I think when it comes to the “timing� of moments in one’s life. I don’t know if I can believe things happen when they’re supposed to. Or that everything happens for a reason. If there is a spiritual or cosmic connection to how the circumstances of our lives play out, I don’t understand it. I have been asking myself these questions for the past ten years; as I try to come to an understanding of how, and why, the events of 9/11 happened and why I survived and others didn’t.
I can’t ignore, though, what has transpired over the last three months.
The past year has been difficult emotionally; as if I’m only now allowing myself to fully grieve and mourn over all that was lost the morning of 9/11. Maybe I haven’t been ready to express just how deep the sorrow inside me is until now; as the tenth anniversary approaches.
It’s terribly lonely living in a place where there is no one else who knows what it was like to be in New York City that day. As much as they might try, no one can truly know what I go through each day. I do have my therapist and she at least understands the effects of post traumatic stress, so that is helpful. Her office has become my refuge.
I hesitate to share my emotions with my parents because I know they worry enough about me already. And they have their own memories of that day as they watched the television; unable to reach me.
For a number of years, after moving here, I searched often for organizations or support groups for the survivors of 9/11. What I did find was always for the families who lost someone. But never anything for the people who were the eyewitnesses and survivors of that day. I finally stopped looking.
And then, at the beginning of this year I found a group, “Voices of September 11�. Once a month this organization provides a teleconference session for survivors; facilitated by a therapist. I have participated in three of them up to now.
Then, about three weeks ago, a friend from California called to tell me of a website someone told him about; “World Trade Center Survivors Network.� Through that group I have found another survivors support group on Google Groups.
For seven years I have never been in contact with another survivor of 9/11 and now I’m speaking with, and writing to, a number of them. I can’t describe the tremendous comfort and solace I receive in having people in my life now who know just what I mean when I express a feeling or a thought; not having to explain myself. And the emails they send could have been written by me; there’s that much clarity and understanding when I read them. I sense new friendships beginning already because of the kinship we share in our collective experiences of 9/11.
The puzzling thing is that these groups have been around for years and I am only now becoming aware of them. My therapist suggests perhaps I wasn’t ready until now. Is this yet another example of those cosmic questions?
So this Friday, once in New York, my family and I will go to Ground Zero. We plan to go after the work day hours; early in the evening. I know that it is a construction site now; with evidence of new buildings but it is still sacred ground to me. I want to stand where I stood that morning. I want to remember, and acknowledge, those who died. For whatever reason, it’s important for me to retrace my steps of that morning with my family; that they might have a better understanding of what it was like for me. That will be on Friday.
Then Saturday morning we are going back to Ground Zero to visit the WTC Tribute Center, which is near by. One of the people I’ve been emailing with, Brian, is going to meet us there. This will be the first time I’ll be able to look into the eyes of someone who witnessed what I did and we’ll not have to say a word to convey our stories to one another.
We will come back to Lancaster Saturday afternoon. This weekend isn’t about visiting the city but about reclaiming the place it’s had in my life and heart. It’s about returning to pay long overdue respect to all who died. I was unaware of this being Easter weekend when I made this decision, but do not take lightly the “timing� and the symbolism of rebirth and rebuilding and the affirmation of life.
At the end of both my play and my book I wrote “to honor those who are gone, I will not forget to live.� I am sorry to say I have not always kept that promise since leaving New York. At times it seems I’ve forgotten it completely. 9/11 changed my life, as I knew it, forever. I am not the same person I was on September 10, 2001. Perhaps none of us are.
From the recent exchanges I’ve had with other survivors I know I will never “get over� what happened that day. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to move past it. But I can move forward; just as the city I love is doing. To move forward is not to forget. I realize that now.
And now perhaps I can write “to honor those who are gone, I will not forget to rebuild and reaffirm my life and to move forward.�That Day In September
