That morning I woke up (I found out later) at the exact moment FLT 11 hit the North Tower. I overslept that morning, which has always made me wonder why that morning? Usually I am up before dawn.
"Awake lute, awake harp! I myself will waken the dawn..."
For some reason I felt as though someone was in the room-an unseen presence filled with rage toward me personally. The feeling was so strong I found myself in heated 'conversation' with this entity-I actually talked out loud to this thing. When I finally got rid of the loathsome presence, I went downstairs, and absently aimed the remote...
And dropped to my knees as I watched the South Tower slowly crumble to the ground. I had this weird flash of a 'video clip' in my head-I swear I saw my friend Joey making his way down the stairwell with his lawyer, and then they were gone in a crush of dust and building.
When I finally went back upstairs many, many, many hours later, and fell asleep-I dreamt these horrible dreams:
A young man, tallish, lean, and dark haired, about 30, in a white shirt, tie, and tan slacks; he was sitting at the end of my bed and he kept asking me-
"Please, can you call my wife? Tell her to tell the boys how sorry I am that I won't be making it home to read to them. My name is Stephen_________ , I work on 105, and my number is ___ ___ ____; please, can you call my wife?"
There was another guy with him, sandy haired and shorter, stocky, he kept saying he didn't want to die...
A priest. When I first saw him he was kneeling by the bodies of a firefighter, and a woman, and he was administering Last Rites; he looked at me and said, "Will you hear my confession?"
He asked me several times, but I kept refusing, feeling utterly inadequate to hear the confession of a man who was in such peril yet kept praying for EVERYONE ELSE he could reach. I sensed he knew he was trapped, and knew he would die, thus the request for the hearing of his confession...
He managed to convince me to at least read the Litany For The Dying, and as I began, dust slowly covered my view of him.
Through out the dreams, I kept hearing a voice praying for (my adopted cousin) John's wife and children. "For Marie Elena and the kids, Lord hear my prayer..."
And then Joey was standing behind me on a hilltop as I looked down and over at the smoldering ruins of the Trade Center, and he said "Don't ever come here. Promise me."
I promise, Joey. I promise.
"Please, can you call my wife...?"