Three Weeks Later 9/11
By Debra Hochman

Thunder shattered the night. Lying in bed waiting for sleep to take me, a strong breeze filled the bedroom with a damp wet odor, the smell of rain, made me shiver.

I turned toward the window, listening suddenly to the loud torrential rain. It was the first rain in three weeks after the devastating catastrophic collapse of the trade center. 911!

Leaning on my elbow, breathing deeply, my mind wondered to the guys still digging, searching, hoping of finding someone or something. Suddenly, lightening lit up the small bedroom and loud thunder slapped sounding like it spawned out from the belly of the pit. The rain kept coming and eerie shadows from the swaying trees pranced upon the walls of the room and saddened sounds were heard from the heavens. The chilly wind from the open window forced me to put on a sweater pulling the quilt up closer. On Sunday, sleep evades me as I toss and turn staring knowing deprivation and massive trepidation of what the work week will bring. Cruel challenges and grief that I carry have become relentless, but now, with this new situation of horror, life as I knew it was now over. Touching my feet while I sat on the edge of the bed facing the windows, realizing the bandages were still in place, pain spiraled up my ankle now. I felt my cheek wondering if a scare would stay under the bandage. How many rocks, pellets, gray soot stinging pebble needles pounded me while I was walking, how many? How could this happen? Why would they or who allow this to happen to us such good and believing people. Thoughts swirled like the rain; dancing shadows deep within my mind.

I turned again now away from the window lying upon the puffed up pillows hoping for peace and sleep. At first I was unsure if I was in a dream or were they sounds of the rain so I leaned up turning, breathing the pungent odor of wet grass, I heard cries, moans, words of help me, help me, we are here, the pain oh my god the pain, my arm, we are here, over and over. Cries of sorrow, help me I am here don’t you see me then angels prancing upon the wall, tears of fear, sorrow, we are all here help us, I can hear you, see you, I jumped up running to the window looking out only seeing blackness, trees swaying, moaning louder now - was I sleeping or was I awake? My heart began to pound, sweat poured down my face, where are you, where am I. I heard men and women crying over and over, did the guys hear that too? Dogs barked and wailed, hearing cries for help, help me, we are here, right here, don’t you see us, my arm is here I am waving to you, help us, we are all together. Why don’t you come, we are waiting for you to get us out of here? Crying, pained crying for mom, for dad for Al for Steve, for Mary, for Jesus for God to help them, for someone to help them. Without moving an inch, I listened, hugging my stomach, my heart for a very long time.

The thunder loudly collapsed and lighting shot up into the sky while all the cries of pain mixed with torrential rain that continued throughout the night, I wanted to direct, to go myself and show them their final call before being taken to heaven. Or were these sweet people living in purgatory before the stop to heaven? If only we could have been there if only could have gotten to them from below the earth. How far were they buried? How did they last that long? I wondered if someone could live after jumping from the windows up on the 103 floor. Could they? Did Palmina live and cry for help too? I did not hear her name as I did from of others on the first rainy night since 911. This was no inconsequential matter. My intensity of the matter was critical, but how can I alone help those moaning souls buried deep within the earth hallowed graves as we now call it. My God, where are you, they are crying with such fervent intensity with pain and sorrow. This exorable sadness covered my heart. The moans of a cello ranked my heart.