My own private 9-11

Like most people, the events of September 11, 2001 had a profound impact on my life. But unlike most people, the events I'm speaking of were only peripherally related to planes being crashed into buildings.

My best friend, Jennifer, had been diagnosed in early September with an incurable form of cancer called multimyeloma. Her first operation -- I think it was to put pins in the hip that the cancer had already eaten away at -- was on September 10. I had snuck into the recovery room that night, claiming to be her sister (and wasn't I?). She loved survival stories, and I had brought her a copy of My Side of the Mountain.

On the morning of September 11 I went to work as usual at my law firm. I was eight months pregnant. A colleague came into tell me about the first plane crashing. I think I knew about the second plane before I went into to the conference room to start a deposition, but I don't think the twin towers had collapsed yet. Maybe they had.

The deposition was going fine. The plaintiff was slightly nutty, but nothing too out of the ordinary. Her claim was that some of her original artwork had been damaged when water leaked into her storage unit.

When we broke for lunch, the four of us -- the plaintiff, her attorney, the court reporter, and me -- left the conference room to find the lights in the office suite out and the place almost deserted. Everyone had left -- fled, maybe -- except for a handful of senior attorneys.

I called my husband and, knowing he was probably in his own world and had no idea what was going on, told him to stay off the subways. Then I went back to work. It seemed better than giving up. Plus, my baby was inside me and would be whether I was at home or at work; and, I had promised Jennifer I would visit her in the hospital after work. It wasn't after work yet.

Eventually the senior partner stopped by my office and said he was leaving along with everyone else "Okay," I said. "I'll turn off the lights." He gave me an odd look. "You should leave too," he said.

So I went to visit Jennifer a couple hours early. She was wan and clearly in pain, but she gave me her usual grin. "It looks like the world is coming to an end," she said, gesturing to the TV.

And even though Jennifer lived, most of the time quite well, for more than three more years, every time I think about the terrorist attacks I remember her saying that, and how with her death, the world did come to an end.