I felt so honored that she called and that I could be there for my friend. She mentioned how helpful it was to talk to someone who was there and we both shared snippets of our stories from that fateful day. I am riveted whenever I hear someone's 9/11 stories- I always nod in recognition even though everyone's story is a little bit different. 

For me 9/11/01 was a normal and ordinary day until my Mom called from Puerto Rico, screaming that "They are bombing New York." I turned the TV on and watched the world change. What I saw that day and in the coming months became held in the muscles of my eyes. As Michael Bloomberg later said, "We can never unsee what happened here." I saw things on TV that I couldn't believe. I remember being on the phone with my Dad while the Towers were burning. I heard him say that the towers wouldn't fall and I believed him. And then a few minutes later the Towers fell. Everything I thought was stable was now destroyed. The President was nowhere in sight. 

There were planes missing; Where were they headed? 

"Don't go to the Empire State Building. Don't go near Penn Station. Stay away from Time Square. Don't leave the house."

A feeling of overwhelming fear enveloped me.

Growing up in Puerto Rico and surrounded by hurricanes year after year, I went into survival mode. I got dressed and went downstairs to get supplies. I lived at that time in 22nd and 1st Avenue. I got to First Avenue and looked down South, I looked back and like Lot's wife, I froze. Instead of the Towers, there were long, curling, black, furious smoke. Hundreds and hundreds of people walked past me covered in ashes and confusion. We all looked at each other trying to find a way to recognize and interpret this moment. 

I went to the ATM and got a few hundred dollars. Then went to the Supermarket where I bought water, crackers, tuna, canned food. The lines in the Supermarket were long. I smiled at an elderly gentleman who was ahead of me and he glared at me. I felt even more alone. I walked back to the apartment and continued to watch TV. I talked to many dear friends and family members: 

My friend Ana and I comforted each other. 

My friend Paloma told me that even if the world was ending, to keep writing. 

My friend Caren told me that our College buddy Todd Isaacs who worked at Cantor Fitzgerald was missing. 

My friend Tom O'Brien told me to not be alone that night. I decided to walk all the way to the L train and go to Brooklyn. I spent that night with my brother. 

The next day I needed to be back home. The city was like a family member who was in the hospital, one that you couldn't bear to get away from. Heading back into Manhattan, the city looked like a war zone. I spent the next few days and weeks watching TV all day. Every airplane, every siren, every scream, every loud noise, sent my body into panic. Years ago I had been diagnosed with PTSD from a car accident I suffered. I could tell that we as New Yorkers, and as a country, were experiencing massive trauma effects. Every little thing would trigger the panic. A sound, a sight, a smell...

The smell. Those of us who lived in NY during this time will forever remain haunted by the smell. It was the smell of death. It's hard to describe a smell. I notice that whenever I hear those of us who were there try to describe the smell, we end up looking away and stop talking. There are no words. Months after the attack, sometimes the smell would come, often after it rained. It would surprise you. Out of the blue you would be talking to someone and the conversation would stop as the eyes turned to look South.

But to me the worst were the pictures. Street corners covered with homemade fliers, pictures, cards, posters, "Have you seen my Dad? Have you seen my Mom? My husband? My sister?" The fliers stayed for months. I would slow down and walk by them with respect. Often I would walk over to street corners and spent a long while looking at each flier. 

2001 was the year I started to teach Yoga. There was a great influx of people in class. Sometimes people would walk out of class cause they were too emotional. One time I was taking a class and we were doing Standing Poses. The teacher -a woman named Rachel- suddenly screamed, "Everyone get down, there's a gun next door." We all crouched down and left the room in a hurry. It later turned out that she had seen a toy gun in the arms of a guy in the building next door. We forgave her. It was understandable. We were all on the edge.

Today is the 10th year anniversary of the attacks. I generally turn the TV on to watch specials on 9/11. I find it helpful to see shows about it and also simultaneously draining. Today I woke up and felt in my gut that I needed to turn the TV. I found the channel that was showing Ground Zero and the people reading the deceased names. It just so happened that at that very moment, they were reading the victims whose last name began with an "I." And a minute later, there it was- my friend Todd Isaac's name was read. I watched about an hour more, and then turned the TV off. 

Now I am going to walk away and move on with the rest of my day.

Dad, thank you for being on the phone with me when the worst was happening. I felt like you were hugging me. I am so grateful that you are alive and that we were there for each other on the worst day in the world.