The Flavins

9/11: My Dad’s Story 

I’ve told a lot of people my dad’s survival story on 9/11. But, I rarely ever share what it was like to be on the other side…so here it is - an intertwining of sorts…10 years later:

I will never forget that moment…junior year of high school, sitting in 1st period English and Sister Pat, our prinicipal, announcing to the school that the planes had hit. Panic ensued because so many kids there had parents working in Manhattan, many in or around the towers…my dad included.  He was at the Deutsche Bank building at 130 Liberty Street, directly across the street from the towers…soon to be ground zero. 

Cell phones weren’t working and I remember having a message sent to me from the school secretary to let me know my mom had called to tell me dad was fine. Mom was coming to school anyway because we had a soccer game and she was on the schedule to bring my team lunch.  When she got there, with my not-even-2-year-old sister, she said they had talked several times before he evacuated the building, and once when he got out, but we had no idea where he was or if he was safe after that. He told her he was going to try and get to Brooklyn to my Aunt’s house…but little did he know that once he hung up the second tower would fall and his vision would be clouded with dust and ash and he would be breathing in debris.  He told us he was safe, but seconds later he was in the most danger he had ever been in his life.

School was cancelled shortly after lunch and we all went home to stare at the TV in silence as we waited to hear if dad made it to Brooklyn. A few hours later, he finally called and told us about his journey. He and his co-worker helped each other to the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel. At one point they lost their way and he cried out in prayer for help. In that moment a woman grabbed his arm and guided him through the tunnel to Brooklyn. He found himself covered in debris and dust, just like everyone in the pictures and images on TV. He was offered water at a barber shop and once inside he saw a sign reading Philippians 4:13, “I can do all thing through Christ who gives me strength.” The same Bible verse he was reciting over and over in his head. He knew throughout, but especially in that moment that God had given him the strength to keep going and saved his life.

He finally reunited with my Aunt and Uncle.  They took him to their home until my uncle bravely drove him from Brooklyn to Summit, NJ where we lived at the time. 

We knew it would take much longer to make the normally hour-long drive, so we did what everyone else in the area was doing. We came together in the true sense of community. People gathered at our church and prayed. I remember all of us huddled in a circle, petrified, but praying and praying because it was the only source of comfort. Halfway through we were interrupted by my friend Christine’s dad. When he finally got out of the city he came straight to the church where the rest of the family was. I’ll never forget their joyous reunion. It gave us all such a sense of relief and it gave me a sense of hope that very soon I too would be hugging my dad.

After our prayer vigil we drove up to Overlook Hospital in Summit.  Being that we lived about 30 miles outside of Manhattan, we really did overlook the city. We drove to the top of the parking garage and stared off into the famous, newly changed skyline in disbelief. I don’t  remember saying much. We were all in such shock, we just stared…hoping we would wake up from this nightmare. 

Finally, I went home and waited…eventually he came home. We all ran to the door. I don’t remember embracing him right away, but I remember touching his ashy suit just shocked that my dad looked just like one of the people I had seen suffering on the news. 

School was closed the next day, maybe even the rest of the week and by the grace of God not a single parent of our student body perished. Sadly, our town and church was not as fortunate. Many families mourned the deaths of loved ones. And my heart goes out to them this weekend.

But, amidst the sorrow there were also so many stories of survival, just like my dad’s. My favorite of these kinds were the ones of people who slept through their alarms, or whose cars wouldn’t start. Things that would normally be such a nuisance ended up saving their lives.

Fortunately, the only physical issues my dad had after trekking across that war zone was eye irritation.  The dust and debris caused him some trouble, but he was able to receive treatment and heal properly.  Like always my dad “made lemonade” out of his lemony situation. I never once heard him react in anger or complain about what he had been through. He only expressed his utmost gratitude for his life and for God’s protection and provision.

About 3 years after 9/11, my friend from college was visiting over the summer, and we met my dad in the city for lunch. We got to talking about what happened and he decided to bring us on a the same walk he took as he made his way to Brooklyn that chaotic day.  It was an easy and beautiful walk on a clear July day, but I couldn’t even imagine trudging through a cloud trying to feel your way to safety. 

An entire decade has passed since the terrorist attack, but being born and raised in the “tri-tate area” the impact of that day is something you think about often. Every year it somehow creeps freshly into my mind.

On Sunday, I will do what I have done every 9/11 since 2001…pray for the families who long for their loved ones that didn’t make it.   And I will celebrate my dad’s life and thank God for keeping him here with us…I love you so much, Dad! -Joanna

Photo reblogged from bobbaer:

(via bobbaer)