One crisp, beautiful…September morning.

New York City was quiet, but oh so very loud.

I was there as the blanket of dust and smoke filling the air covered my city, as “Ground Zero,” bit by bit, emerged from the wreckage.

I remove the mask from my face, fixing my eyes upon those who were trapped or had raced inside. Submerged, snowed under, and now veiled beneath the drywall, parts of the planes, the concrete, the office supplies.

…Another fireman was found today.

They hose me down at midnight, my ritual of departure, leaving Ground Zero, the horror and fear of the dirt, ash, and soot that has rained down upon us like the poison of the evildoers.

I listen achingly as my fellow Americans and families from nations throughout the world tell me how they didn’t have time to sew up some deep wound and would give anything for “just one more chance.”

“Will they get it?” they inquire of me. The vulnerability and dread reach their peak, and I, too, am forced to face my panic. Everyone is always looking skyward. Some said you could even smell the hate in the air.

Wives, husbands, brothers, sisters begging me for the hope that their loved one is not dead.

I watch daily as our cherished homeland’s flag is draped upon not a box that holds a little girl’s father, but what is left of his body…

I observe how, as each day passes with no life found, it begins to chip away at the shaky faith and belief his mother had, knocking her to her knees.

One day, the check finally comes due. They hesitatingly tell us. We are now in a new phase: Search and Recovery.

“What?!” his wife tormentingly asks. “No longer Search and ‘Rescue’?”

I witness the firefighters making that helpless dive into the rubble despite it all.

Is there still a fighting chance? Did we miss someone…?

Exhaustion finally takes over. His head is hanging low. He takes a nap on a blanket I set out on the ground. I sit with him. He wakes with a start, and wearily, he suits up…

This big, masculine fireman slowly rises to his feet and says, “It was you who tucked me in. I could smell your perfume…as I dreamed it was me caught in that ghastly place.”

He softly tells me, “Thank you. You do not realize what you did for me today.

“I feel as though an angel tucked me in and allowed me to finally get out of my own little corner of hell and slip into such sorely needed sleep.”

I am humbled beyond measure. A lump forms in my throat. I have no words.

Is “time up”? Is there a shelf life for grieving?

At times, when witnessing the skyline, the pain is unceasing, and I feel as though I am still holding my breath.

And yet we have allowed the enemy to attack our values, freedom, and way of life. We were told that we, as a nation, will not be intimidated.

As for me, I cannot believe how we have acquiesced to the enemy within our gates and permitted fear to literally dictate our future. As they say: When a sinister person means to be your enemy, they always start by trying to become your friend.

In the haunting words of Martin Luther King Jr.: “Never forget that everything Hitler did in Germany was legal.”

Caroline is a licensed psychotherapist, crisis counselor, and writer with an office in Queens.  She works with individuals, couples, and families.  Appointments are available throughout the week and weekends.  She can be reached at 917-717-1775 or at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. or at facebook.com/pages/Safe-Haven-Healing.