If you’re in publishing, even if you’re not in New York City yourself, you probably know a lot of people who are–or have been–based there.
Nobody talks about it much, especially not any more, but if you know people who’ve lived and worked in New York City for a while, if you know people in publishing in New York, you probably know at least a good handful of 9/11 survivors. The victims and their families get a lot of the press, as they should, but you don’t hear much about the survivors and the witnesses. It’s largely because they don’t want it, or because there’s a perception that they don’t, or because there’s a certain discomfort about what to say or do. It’s the elephant in the room.
Many of the New York publishing houses are up toward Midtown. The publisher I worked for (Scholastic) is in SoHo, right on Broadway, a little more than a handful of blocks away.
My name is Gabrielle and I’m a 9/11 survivor. I don’t talk about it much, especially not any more, but I am.
And I’m not unique. Everyone in my company, in my building, was there too. We saw it happen. Not live on television or on endless tape loops after the fact, but right out our open windows or from our own office’s rooftop balcony. We watched the second plane hit, and we watched the towers fall. All of us were evacuated and sent out into the panic on the streets with no news, no direction, and — for many of us who commuted — no way home.
All of us breathed and blinked our eyes in that toxic air for months, and several of us suffered health effects from it. I’m one of the many who now have a chronic eye condition, a permanent souvenir that will never go away. I consider myself lucky to have gotten off that easy. No two people handle trauma in exactly the same way or have exactly the same experience, but suffice it to say, all of us were changed.
I don’t bring it up much unless it’s relevant, but I’ve also always made a point not to shy away from the topic, either. It was a very different experience, actually being there, and I’ve always had a drive to explain it to people who want to understand.
At the same time, it’s left me very sensitive in some ways, and to some themes in fiction — and not the ones you might expect. They’re themes that haven’t come up yet in my work, so I can’t speak to whether I’ll be okay working with them in a professional sense if they do, or if there will end up being some books that my own PTSD just won’t let me work on. Time will tell.
Though reactions are specific and individual, That Tuesday never comes and goes without notice for those of us who witnessed it firsthand, even when it falls on a different day of the week. There’s definitely no chance of forgetting. We might pretend it’s just another day, but even if we don’t let it get to us, there’s still an awareness of it. When I was still in New York, I’d always take the day off, just so that I didn’t have to deal with the panic inherent in that morning’s commute.
Now, I just try to keep busy. I don’t want to think about it, I don’t want to be asked if I’m okay. I don’t want sympathy. I just want to get through it quietly and keep my mind on other things until the calendar flips.
I’d suggest handling any contact with NYCers the same way. If someone wants their day to be business as usual, the most sensitive thing you can do for them is to let it be just that. If they want to talk about it, they will. No one’s going to think you’re insensitive if you let the elephant in the room blend in with the decor.
Personally, I’ll go back to being willing to talk about it on Monday. Until then, I’d rather avoid the media and immerse myself in my work. I’ll remember and reflect quietly, in my own time and in my own way.
Tor.com has a good four-part article on Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in Fiction (part 2 continues here, and part 3 spotlights how The West Wing Got It Right).
reprinted; originally posted September 2009
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