In response to the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center, the state of New Jersey set up the Family Assistance Center at Liberty State Park in Jersey City, New Jersey. Little has been shared about how New Jersey rapidly mobilized to care for individuals who felt the impact of the disaster. Stones in My Heart Forever was written as a journal in the field as events unfolded, giving us a rare glimpse into the internal operations of a disaster relief site. Stones in My Heart Forever is much more than a description of events: it is filled with soul-searing multi-sensory images of what the author witnessed and experienced alongside other responders who suddenly found themselves in the midst of this historical event.
Most of us who pored over media accounts with tears in our eyes could not comprehend the staggering reality or the massive emotional rush of actually seeing America burning. This very intimate book allows us to become honored visitors who come to understand this disaster as never before when we share in the experiences of responders, families, and survivors, the stages of grief, the touching lessons of strength, hope, and courage, and the aftermath of repeated exposure to trauma – there is a cost to caring. Stones in My Heart Forever is a testimony to American pride and resiliency, and confirmation of the ways in which simple, ordinary people rose to extraordinary heights of courage and compassion. It is a must read for clinicians, responders, educators, students, clergy. It honors all of us who have been affected by the events of September 11, 2001, especially the unsung heroes who we meet and come to know on these pages.
October 6
Today we are to take 104 people to New York City. Last night I didn’t sleep.
Companions formed a protective cocoon around the families as we entered the dock area.
New York law enforcement flank the sidewalk at parade rest, with tears running down their faces - a human fence of pain. Painfully young. Silent. I want to hug them but I can’t. I want to bury my face in one of those leather jackets and cry with them but I choke it back. I don’t want to look. Smoke rises from the still burning fires – and the smell is death, plastic, ozone, burning metal, chemical, petroleum, and rain on hot cement all rolled into one. I breathe deep to choke down the tears, and wish I hadn’t.
A group of diggers stands with their construction helmets over their hearts as we pass, covered in dirt, hands bandaged, bloody, crying. My heart swells with American pride, and breaks all at the same time. Papers and many different types of debris are still in the trees, things are hanging in the branches. Gray leaves, and this world becomes even grayer with every step, …and we aren’t even inside yet.
There is no way in hell you are ever going to convince me that this is New York City. My playground can not look like this. Goddamn it, this can’t be New York City. It can’t be America. I have heard the phrase: “…words cannot express…” from so many who have been here.
There
are
no
words.
No description. No explanation. No words. Nothing. It is just too big. Too ugly. Too evil. Too terrible.
Oh God, I can feel the weight of all of those souls, so heavy.
All of those lost people. All of that evil is right there burning and smoking in front of my eyes and I just want to scream until I die from it.
All of these people working, and all of that equipment, and I hear nothing. Strangely, this silence is becoming so soothing – I feel it wrapping around me. This place is so ugly, but at the same time, so holy. I have a sensation of being wrapped in heavy cotton: fuzzy, muffled, colorless. The sacredness of this place is overwhelming, as overwhelming as the evil that created it. I keep trying to slow my breathing to keep my emotions steady, and my thoughts clear. I close my eyes and try to breathe slow and deep, but my eyes immediately snap open, and I begin to pant when I realize that although I have closed my eyes, I still see it – like it has been burned into my brain, already.