I live in New York City, in Queens. I work in the Bronx, for the New York Public library, in a branch library. I got to work that day, and one of our staff members was standing outside, trying to smoke a cigarette with one hand and frantically trying to make a call on her cell phone. She told me a plane had struck the Twin Towers, and she was trying to call her aunt who worked there (her aunt survived). I ran inside and to the community room where there was a tv. All the staff were standing there watching. The second plane had hit. As we watched the tower collapsed. I didn't understand what I was seeing, couldn't take it in. I e-mailed a friend to let him know I was OK, posted on an internet site I use that I was OK, called my husband, tried to call my mother. We were told that the library wasn't going to open and we should all go home, so we locked up and went.

My bus home crossed the Whitestone Bridge and I could see the smoke from the site. I have a friend who was at the time a fireman, and that's when I realized he might be dead. I went home and went into an internet chat site for awhile.

Then I went and picked up my daughter early from school. She was in 6th grade. They hadn't told them what had happened, but they knew something bad had. I told her, it was the hardest part of the whole thing I think.

She insisted we go and I donate blood. We tried the local ambulance corps building, they had a sign up to go to a hospital, so that's what we did. The bus wasn't taking fares. There was already a line to donate that stretched out the door, down the hall, out of the building and down to the sidewalk, all different races and ethnicities. They took my name and phone number and sent us away.

We went and ate dinner at a restaurant. They had tvs and it was playing over and over. That's when I finally could understand what I had seen.

After dinner I went to my regularly scheduled Al-anon meeting, there were only a few people there but it was a great comfort to be with people.