When superstorm Sandy hit New York City, I made my way through a pitch-black hallway and down the stairs remembering Grandma – and the New York we had shared. And I thought of 9/11. That spirit of service and community has shown itself again in the aftermath of Sandy.
What’s going to happen to Grandma?
That was my first worry, when I heard that hurricane Sandy was coming. Then I remembered: Grandma’s not here anymore. It’s easy to forget, because she was with us for so long; she passed last December at the age of 104. And I stayed at her Greenwich Village apartment two nights a week for 16 years, while commuting from my Philadelphia home to my job in New York.
So when the rains began, and the lights went out, I found myself lying in the dark and remembering Grandma – and the New York we had shared.
From the studio apartment that I now rent, just one floor above Grandma’s place, I made my way through a pitch-black hallway and down the stairs, guided only by the weak light of my cellphone. And I thought of 9/11.
On September 11, from the street outside my office, I had watched one of the Twin Towers crumble into dust. Then I went to Grandma’s apartment and we watched both buildings fall, over and over again, on her old television set.
Over the next few days, we saw images of unspeakable sadness. Dazed workers filed out of the financial district, their faces covered in ash and tears. People wandered the streets in search of missing loved ones, posting pictures and phone numbers. And smoke wafted into Grandma’s apartment, just a mile from Ground Zero, adding a pungent scent of tragedy and loss.