A 9/11 survivor moves on: 'How short and precious our time is in this world'

Last Thursday in this column, I wrote about the experience of Filipino-American Vina Francisco, who walked right into the World Trade Center (WTC) a few minutes after its North Tower was hit, and walked out a few minutes before the South Tower was hit. Her office, the American Express Tower, was just across the WTC twin towers, which was the last stop on the subway route she took every morning. Now working in a multi-lateral financial institution in Manila, a conscious choice she made because she wanted to be near her parents Doy and Marichi Francisco, Vina shares how 9/11 has irrevocably changed her life.

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I remember every moment, every second, every detail, and every thought that came to mind on that very day. And I remember other people’s stories as well. Where they were, what they thought, what they did, and how they coped.

The first 12 months that followed 9/11 were the toughest. I became obsessive. I read every article written about 9/11. For many months after the attacks, I watched and re-watched Internet video that showed the planes crashing into the towers.

I was hyper vigilant. I was angry. I drove myself crazy but I also learned about myself. I tracked survival stories and made mental notes of how the people escaped in case the same happened to me someday. I looked for signs to see if there was a divine influence picking and choosing who survived and who didn’t and why. I analyzed the decisions people made that seemed to make the difference between life and death. I was determined to arm myself with data, any data. I was an information hound. I know now that sheetrock walls are three feet thick and it is possible to dig your way out if you have 50 minutes and something to dig with. I know now which telecom systems survive on generator power during a city wide electrical blackout. In a sinking car, I know to wait till it hits bottom. Internal and external pressure will equalize and the car doors will open. In the event of a chemical attack… go up not down, gas settles.

I know now that I can think on my feet and more importantly that I can run. I panicked but I did not freeze. I got myself out of the danger zone. But for about a week after the event, my legs were so stiff and so painful I could barely walk. In grief counseling I was told that this was my body’s reaction to the trauma.

I avoided the subways as much I could. I was always running. I identified “safe places” where I could hide. My best friend at work Mike brought in a set of rappelling equipment just in case. He promised he would get me out, just in case... I made him renew that promise every month for a year. I was on the 35th floor, he was on 40. We would meet on 26... no one would leave without the other.

I could not bear loud sounds. Even the sound of the hair dryer bothered me so in the winter of 2001, I left the house with wet hair every day. I heard every single F16 jet fighter that flew over my apartment building and was secretly glad for the semblance of safety they provided. I held my breath every time a commercial flight flew over Manhattan. They said Manhattan was a “no-fly zone” but they always broke the rules. I watched video on how to survive a plane crash in the water. My siblings and I had an emergency plan for how we would find each other in case we were separated. We were sure more attacks were coming.

I was angry. I wanted revenge.

Somehow it made me feel safer if I knew exactly what I had to do to take care of myself. I could not control the skies… but I could control what I did on the ground. I can run down 35 floors in six minutes flat in heels. I know. It was tested when Amex had a bomb threat a few months later. But what if I don’t have six minutes next time? And what if Mike isn’t around?

About six months after 9/11, I visited Ground Zero for the first time with my sister. With her at my side I retraced every step I took from the moment I got out of the subway. It really did happen. I was glad that I went back. I was glad that I was not afraid to go back. In hindsight I think that was an early sign of my healing.

As the years passed, my obsession with the events of Sept. 11 waned  until the anniversary week rolls around and the obsession starts all over again. I cannot forget. I have to make sure I remember. The tears come, my breathing gets labored, the memories come flooding in... I am running late, I can’t find my glasses, I am wearing my favorite blue Tahari twin set and my new brown slip-on mules, it is 8:50 in the morning (the first plane struck at 8:46 a.m.), it is a beautiful sunny day, it is Sept. 11, and I am coming out of the World Trade Center subway station…

I stood in front of the graveyard of St. Paul’s Church, across the street from the World Trade Plaza watching the North Tower burn after it was struck. I was where I was because I was luckily late for work that morning.

In total, my company, American Express, lost 11 employees  all present on the 94th floor of the North Tower at 8:48 a.m. A colleague of mine, Claudia, got caught on the street when the towers fell. Covered in soot and barely able to breathe she just stood in place and could not move. She was paralyzed by her fear. Out of the smoke, a total stranger grabbed her arm and said, “It’s time to go.” She does not remember anything beyond that, not even how she got home that day. She believes the stranger walked her home to 82nd street, a distance of about six miles. She did not return to work for almost a year.

My team mate Barbara found shelter from the falling towers in the lobby of a random office building. Only when she got in there did she realize that she was barefoot and had lost her shoes. A man in the building offered to lend her a pair of shoes so that she could begin her long walk home. The shoes stayed in her closet, untouched in a brown paper bag, for a whole year. On the first anniversary of 9/11, Barbara went back to the building to look for the man who had lent her his shoes. She did not even know his name but she found him. She gave him back his shoes  dirty, crusty and worn out but still in one piece… like they were. There was no need for words. They hugged each other and were grateful for the day.

Am I still as fearful as I was? Sometimes. But less and less as time goes by.

Since then I have scaled mountains in Brazil and Peru not without moments of panic but I always made it to “my top” and that’s all that mattered. Even my sister Monica made it to “her top” in Peru and now she understands why I love to climb and how it makes me feel. Three months after 9/11, Monica and I flew to Paris and Madrid and I had a minor panic attack on the plane but I swore that not even the fear of a hijacking could keep me from the City of Lights, winter sales, hot chocolate and churros in Madrid in the dead of winter and from simply being able say “I am free… watch me fly!”

Vina Francisco (fourth from left) with her then office mates at American Express: (From left) SVP Jim Dywer, VP Christine Anderson, SVP Ellen Bloom and EVP and the head of human resources Bonnie Stedt (‘She was my mentor,’ Vina says).

A year later, I spent two weeks sailing in the Greek Isles even as they announced that local terrorists were bombing the ports and scaring tourists away. I remember sitting at the stern of this tremendous ship, in the middle of the Aegean sea, underneath this beautiful and exotic Greek sky, and at the same time wondering how long and how far can I swim if this boat blows up? I slept with a life jacket on my bed. In 2003, I walked on the Charles Bridge in Prague to celebrate my 38th birthday. At the back of my mind I was thinking that terrorists blew up this very bridge in the movie “Mission Impossible!”

As much as I loved life before Sept. 11, I love it even more now. How short and precious our time is in this world… There is no time to waste... there is only time to live life as I want to  on my terms  without fear and full of adventure.

By the way, I still have my blue Tahari twin set but I’ve thrown my brown mules away. I don’t ever want to walk in those shoes again. Mike still has the rappelling gear under his desk. It is gathering dust and that is how we like it!

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