A friend of my niece was stranded in Atlanta also and had a rental car that she had not turned in. We headed back to Boston Thursday afternoon and arrived at Logan on Friday night. It was the strangest feeling when she dropped me off at Central Parking, where garage employees in golf carts were giving people rides to their cars. They did not charge me for parking. It dawned on me later that there were people going to retrieve cars for loved ones who were not going to return, and that was most likely the reason for the escort and the waived parking fees.
I dropped off my niece's friend at her mother's condo in Revere. There were paper bag luminaries lit all the way down the beach. I sobbed all the way home as it finally struck me how close I came to being one of the people who were murdered that day. And I also mourned for all the innocent victims of the terrorists who took their lives. I will never forget that day as long as I live.
My memory of 9/11 begins with our last sight of the Twin Towers, on Labor Day 2001. We were driving over the Tappan Zee Bridge and I looked down the Hudson River to see them gleaming in the sunlight. I am sorry to say that my impression was that they were too big for their lower Manhattan neighborhood.
On 9/11, I stopped at the Eaton Drugstore on Canal Street on my way to work at Salem State. A radio was on and the pharmacist said, "That's the second plane that hit." I asked what was going on. "A plane hit the World Trade Center and it's in flames." I decided to go home for a while before going on to work.