Brady: A daughter remembers Ground Zero heroes

My dad left for Ground Zero around 8:30 a.m. on Sept. 11, 2001, and returned on Friday, Sept. 14.

I grew up in a suburb 24 miles from Ground Zero with a father who was a firefighter in one of the busiest firehouses in New York City’s East Harlem.  “The Fire Factory” is a broken down, two-story brick structure, but it was a second home to my father.  When he wasn’t there, we were home together raising the volume every time there was news of a fire on the TV, or listening to the FDNY fire dispatch playing subtly in my kitchen.

On the morning of Sept. 11, I attended another seemingly normal day of third grade at Covert Avenue Elementary School.  At 10 a.m. I was picked up early by my friend’s mother. I didn’t know our country was in the midst of experiencing one of the worst terrorist attacks in our history, I was just thrilled not to be sitting through another boring classroom activity.  At the same time, Mayor Rudy Giuliani was issuing an “all-city alert.”  This meant all NYC firefighters and police officers must report to their jobs.

That included my dad.  With that, my mother removed my father’s FDNY medal, a birthday gift she got him a few years prior, from around his neck and said goodbye as he left for lower Manhattan, not knowing when, or if, he’d return.

He was a first responder and made it to Ground Zero before the collapse of the second tower. As the day dragged on and the look of fear and anxiety consumed my mother, I grew curious.  Our phone was ringing off the hook and the TV in our living room was blasting with voices of scared and confused newscasters.  Nobody knew what was happening.  Some people were calling this an act of terrorism; others were calling it an “accident.”

After four nights, my father returned home. We were the lucky ones – some families are still waiting on their loved ones. But he had slept in the firehouse, working day and night, ceasing the fire and rummaging through the rubble.  I don’t know what my father saw during those long hours, and to this day he is quiet about the experience.  What I do remember is the look on his face when he returned Friday night around 2 a.m.

He witnessed death.

His face was gray, he smelled of smoke and he looked frightened.  I watched my dad attend countless funerals and take a leave of absence from his second job to dig in that pile at Ground Zero until January the following year.  He searched for a piece of his missing Lieutenant and served his time to the city that he loved with the men he called his brothers.

The New York City Fire Department coined the term “The New Normal,” and my family was trying its best to adjust to it. But nothing was the same. I witnessed my father grow somber and more introverted.  My parents attended counseling services provided by the city.  Our family vacations scheduled that year were cancelled. Our city doubted our safety, lost a sense of buoyancy and everything was put on hold.

As a family, we dread this week more than any other throughout the year.  We want to forget the death, the fear and the terror that we witnessed.  We ignore the phonies and money-hungry people indulging from the event.  Instead, we watch my father get dressed in his suit and tie and attend memorials and church services while the names of the deceased, including 343 firefighters, are read over the TV.

This is not meant to be a sob story or a plea for sympathy.  Instead, I hope it can give clarity and understanding to those who weren’t as close to the tragedy as me, both emotionally and physically.  Coming to Kansas for the first time two years ago has been one of the greatest experiences for my family.  I am overwhelmed by the reverence and the respect Midwesterners show for my father.  The pride that beams through my dad’s smile when someone learns he was a first responder and thanks him for his service is contagious.  Our lives have changed since that frightful morning, but the unconditional love and support makes it easier to believe the vitality of our country will be restored.

Dani Brady is a junior studying journalism from Long Island, N.Y.

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