The following blog post was written by Jennifer Sammartino, Director of Communications and External Affairs for our office.
Fifteen years ago, I never could have imagined the position
that I would be in today.
Just two years out of college, I was starting my career at
the Staten Island Advance, as an editor.
On a bright Tuesday morning, I was jolted awake (I worked evenings on
Tuesdays then) by my mother’s voice on the answering machine, begging me to
pick up the phone.
While most of what followed is a blur, there are pieces of
that day that stick out: My mom – who worked across the street from the towers
- explaining that they had evacuated; flipping on the TV just in time to see
the second plane hit; taking the world’s fastest shower and racing to the newsroom,
where I wouldn’t have to be alone.
I sat, for what seemed like an eternity, helplessly watching
the horror unfold on a TV mounted high on a wall in the newsroom. The editors
remade the front page of the paper to capture what was happening. Restless and
sick to my stomach, I announced that I would head to St. Vincent’s Hospital to
give blood and I’d write about what was happening there – at least I could do
something.
When I arrived at the hospital, it was controlled chaos.
Would-be blood donors gathered in a conference room to fill out forms and wait.
Eventually we were told that we could get a call when they needed us to come
back. Those calls would never come.
Luckily for me, I did get a different call later that day.
My mom had made it over the Brooklyn Bridge on foot and she would be coming
home that night. Home, she came, with ash and soot in her ears, her hair, her
clothes. The sense of relief I felt was overwhelming. But I also felt guilty
because I was among the lucky. My mom had come back home.
Everything changed that day. As a nation, we would never
take our sense of security for granted again. My priorities shifted. I was
overcome with sadness and for months, we all walked around in a haze.
I don’t believe that time heals all. I think time dulls the
pain; I think time has a way of making some memories more vivid and others less
powerful.
In my case, time allowed me to spread my wings. I eventually
left the newspaper to explore a career in public relations, hospital
administration and government communications. I am now the Borough President’s
Director of Communications and External Affairs. I took the position in 2014
and a few short months later, the 9/11 ceremony was on my plate.
This event is the single most important thing I do all year
long. It’s significant for so many people and it’s an opportunity to reflect,
take a moment of solace and be together without really having to say a word.
With this responsibility – which I gratefully accept – there comes much anxiety
in getting the details right, in anticipating what our community wants and
needs, finding the perfect balance of respect and creativity, and organization
for a seamless memorial event.
Each year, I hide behind the stage dictating what is to
happen next and praying that all goes well and that we as a team have delivered
exactly what surviving family members and friends want and deserve. It’s an
honor and a privilege. At the
conclusion, my nails are bitten off, I’m still shaking and hanging on every
word of every person that goes by, looking for validation like a child.
I share this with you because I care. I care so much about
each of you, every person who suffered that day and continues to suffer and
feel the losses. I genuinely hope that this ceremony gives you peace. After the
very first ceremony my team and I organized in 2014, I stood next to the
Borough President as we watched family members gather their roses and leave
them by loved ones’ facades on the memorial. This is why we do what we do, he
whispered.
This is why.