Memories of September 11 and the Lasting Impact

Liberty Plaza near the World Trade Center was blanketed in dust and debris on September 11, 2001. Photographer Susan Meiselas captured this haunting image. Twenty-five years later, the memories of the bright blue sky endure. That clear day slowly revealed a terrifying reality as smoke parted to show empty space where the towers stood.

In the weeks following, I found myself decorating the Cathedral of St. John the Divine for a memorial service honoring employees lost at Windows on the World. Blue hydrangeas and delphiniums with mountain laurel symbolized my own connection to 9/11 through flowers. I worked in New York’s high-end floral business while writing a novel and regularly visited Windows on the World, where our flowers adorned the restaurant. I am fortunate. I was off that September morning and didn’t lose anyone close in the attacks.

Writing about 9/11 took two years and a thousand origami cranes. Eighteen more years passed before more reflections emerged in print. I’ve learned through time how grief compounds, creating a bittersweet tally with the blessings of life. Since then, my life changed: four moves, four jobs, getting a mortgage, marriage, teaching my stepsons to cook. My friend moved back to Japan, my father passed, and my mother faded into dementia.

I ended up on the front lines of a global pandemic, an unexpected place for a writer. Despite such challenges, I cherish each day of joys and losses. On September 11, people fled as the World Trade Center’s South Tower collapsed. Survivors shielded themselves from the heavy dust using makeshift masks. Photographer Gilles Peress captured these moments. Even today, the blue sky looks as vividly clear as that morning twenty years ago.

The City and Its Influences

My love for New York began fifteen years ago, a journey from Ohio not just to write, but to immerse myself in the city’s dynamic landscape. Manhattan soared skyward, offering a sense of space and joy amid its noise and architecture. Walking outside became a private escape for someone accustomed to standing out. The city’s vibrant energy taught me to find comfort in silence, leading to an unexpected evolution in my writing style.

The memories of my Ohio childhood lingered, eventually inspiring a novel about Amish country. Though I became drawn to the city’s bustling life, I also craved earthy connections, leading me to the floral industry. Leaving the world of newspapers, I ventured into floral design, embracing a world of beautiful, albeit thorny, flowers. My first trip to the East Twenty-Eighth Street flower market ignited a new passion, fulfilling a desire for color and creativity.

At a high-end Chelsea studio, I initially admired the floristry but disliked the wealthy clientele. The experience compared to temp work with lower pay and more injuries. Nevertheless, I appreciated interacting with those working behind the scenes, from elevator girls admiring our blooms to kind busboys offering hospitality perks. Hospitality’s inner workings fascinated me, offering glimpses of employees’ diverse backgrounds.

On September 10th, I delivered an arrangement of purple delphiniums to Windows on the World. Our role was to counter nature, ensuring blooms remained pristine in the restaurant’s elegant environment. Patrons’ behavior tested our resolve, yet we returned to maintain beauty against the odds. Staff below stairs appreciated our efforts, often marveling at the real beauty of our floral arrangements.

September 11: A Day of Loss

The following morning, I watched from my Brooklyn apartment as smoke billowed from the burning towers. Witnessing the second plane crash, I struggled with disbelief and emotion. Rescue teams eventually found workers attempting to survive; some used our flowers for minor relief among harsh conditions.

The studio dismantled planned arrangements the next day, while news slowly unveiled the scale of the tragedy. Among the lost were seventy-three restaurant employees, saved due to small timing anomalies. We continued with normal tasks, but loss permeated our work environment, merging our professional obligations with personal grief.

The floral industry, rooted in emotions like happiness and desire, confronted unusual challenges during this period. An unprecedented memorial service demanded arrangements that could convey grief and remembrance. Despite mainly working on celebratory events, we poured our hearts into making this a fitting tribute.

During the service at St. John the Divine, I recognized few names but felt an overwhelming sense of loss. Colleagues shared emotional embraces, but only short, uneasy interactions with city officials offered a glimpse into broader healing.

Aftermath and Reflection

For a long time, I absorbed every story about 9/11, seeking relief from grief through endless consumption of news. Eventually, I distanced myself, yet persistently acknowledged the attack’s echoes through reminders in headlines and personal connections.

New York’s charm lies in its blend of history, diversity, and passion. Flowers remain a metaphor for persistent hope, symbolizing beauty amid adversity. Witnesses to past tragedies now live in a city that endures; they look back at those skies, remembering how quickly worlds can change.

Andrea Louie, writer and long-time New York resident, now directs the Serica Initiative, a non-profit supporting Asian communities. A published author, her career speaks to resilience, adaptation, and the search for connection amid life’s unpredictability.