We All Fall Down: The True Story of the 9/11 Surfer (17 page)

When Terry, Eileen, and Linda arrived, his heart broke all over again. Pat, Steve, and Franco had been great friends to him, and he missed them dearly, but he knew his pain was nothing compared to the grief of the women who loved them, the widows they’d left behind.

“I am so sorry for your losses,” he told them as soon as they were close enough to hear him. “I know that probably doesn’t mean much...but I am sorry.” He hugged them all and felt his throat begin to close.

One by one they asked him questions that he really had no answers for, but he did his best to tell them something, anything that might help sooth their pain.

“What were they like?” Steve’s wife Terry asked. “Those final moments...what happened?”

“I don’t think any of us were as scared as we would have been if we had known what was really going on,” Pasquale told her. He noticed the mascara running down her face, and he had to look away to keep himself from breaking down. He needed to be strong for those women. He knew that.
How could I dare reveal my own pain when theirs is so much more tangible?

“Did they...” Linda, Franco’s wife, began before pausing, as if the question she wanted to ask was fighting against her, not wanting to escape her lips. “Did they…suffer?”

“I don’t...I don’t think so.” As he said this, the tears he’d so desperately been trying to choke back broke through and began to flow. “It all happened so fast—so, so fast. One minute we were making our way down the steps, and in the next…well, it was all just…over.”

As the words came out, the last shred of composure he had been clinging to left him, and he began to weep.
How dare you cry when these women lost their husbands?
the voice in his head taunted him.
Control yourself! Be strong!
It did not matter though. His strength had left him, and he could not get it back.

As he cried Terry, Steve’s wife, hugged him.

“I am so sorry,” Pasquale told her. “I am so, so sorry. I wish I could help you. I just want to make things better for you all.”

“It’s okay, Pasquale,” she said through her own tears. “It’s all right. It’s not your fault.”

After she said it, he sobbed even harder.
Look at me, crying like this! I lived, and she lost her husband, but she’s…hugging me?

They continued crying together for a few moments. He did his best to answer every question they had, despite the pain those questions and answers triggered deep within him. He knew it was the least he could do.

Eventually the time came for them to leave. After they made their tearful departure, Pasquale was overcome with pain. It overwhelmed him as he sat in the middle of that provisional cubicle, surrounded by so many friends, but completely alone at the same time. He was forever marked, as if
9/11 Survivor
had been tattooed on his head and, even worse, branded on his soul.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I Don’t Need Sunshine Now to Turn My Skies to Blue…I Don’t Need Anything but You

“My mom lived every day like she was dying... Every day was a gift.”

~ Louise Buzzelli

Even though he’d thought getting back to a somewhat normal routine would help ease him back into his life, Pasquale’s depression only worsened after he went back to work. At night, when darkness fell, there was a constant battle with his fears, as if the danger of 9/11 had not ended when the Towers came down but was instead permeating through his house.

As Louise watched him spiral downward, she began to fear for her marriage and the good life she’d built with Pasquale. She had lost him for that one day, and now that she knew what that felt like, she could not help but fear that she might again be overcome with that horrible pain again. What made it all worse was that she was helpless; she was completely powerless to do anything as she watched him pull away from her and recede further inside of himself. As time went on, he spent more and more time in some dark place, a pit of despair where even she could not reach him. It scared her to see that happening to Pasquale, because she’d witnessed something far too similar before, back when her own father began to sink into a deep depression after the death of Louise’s mother—a depression he never really recovered from and was still suffering from the day that a fire claimed his life.

~ ♦ ~

Louise’s father, Harry, was the son of Italian immigrants. As many families were in those days, his was quite large, and he was the youngest of twelve, but they managed to make it living in the Bronx. Because their family was so large, they were also very poor, so to help support the family, Harry took a job as a shoeshine boy when he was very young. “Five cents a shine, Louise, and I would give all my earnings to my family to help put dinner on the table,” he often proudly told his own daughter years later, when she was just a little girl herself. Even at that young age, Harry exhibited the extremely giving nature that he would be known for the rest of his life. He was the kind of man who would literally give anything and everything he had to give to help someone else out if he could. Oftentimes throughout his life, he went exceedingly far to give to those who were less fortunate than him. One such occasion was the day he and Louise were walking in the Bronx, on Arthur Avenue, and a man Harry barely knew paid him a compliment.

“Hey, Harry. What a nice watch!” the man said to him.

Harry looked down at the watch as if he’d forgotten he was wearing it. “Oh, you like it?” Harry asked.

“Yeah. That’s a real nice watch.”

“Well, if you like it so much, you should have it.” Without a moment’s hesitation he began unfastening the watch.

“Wh-what?” the man asked with a confused look on his face. “Are you kidding?”

“No, sir! Seriously…take it!” Harry held it out to the man without one ounce of remorse or doubt on his face.

“I can’t take your watch. It must have cost a fortune,” the man said, holding up his hands and shaking his head.

“No, please take it. I am serious. It would make me very happy to give this to you, and happiness is worth so much more to me than a watch.” Harry took the man’s hand, turned it over, and placed the watch into it before closing the man’s fingers around it with his other hand. Harry never regretted giving that watch away, and he was truly delighted to have given someone else something they could enjoy and be proud to own.

Louise was only six or seven years old when she witnessed that charitable act, and from then on, she adored and

admired her father’s kindness and generosity toward others.

~ ♦ ~

When Harry met Louise’s mother, Josephine, he was going through a divorce. It was hard on him, as he had three children by his first wife, and he loved them dearly. Nevertheless, it worked out for the best when he met Josephine, also a divorcee, and they fell for each other almost immediately. It took them a little longer than they would have liked to find each other, but they completed each other and spent the rest of their lives together.

When Harry was forty-six and Josephine was forty-one, the couple brought a beautiful baby girl into the world. They named that baby Louise. To Harry, the name held special significance, for it was the name of one of his older sisters, his most beloved one who was closer to him than some of the others. His sister Louise had always been incredibly kind and had always looked out for him, so he chose his baby’s name in honor of her.

When Harry was twelve, he’d lost his right eye in an accident. Because the family was so impoverished and had so many mouths to feed, an expensive prosthetic was out of the question for young Harry, so he had to make do with an eye patch for years, until his sister Louise stepped in.

Louise wanted to save Harry the embarrassment and scorn of having to wear an eye patch as a young man, so she decided to ask the neighborhood for help. She went door to door on Arthur Avenue (“Little Italy” in the Bronx) and asked for donations so the family could afford to get her baby brother, Harry, a prosthetic eye. Her dedication paid off, the neighbors gave what they could to help their fellow Italians, and Harry was relieved of having to wear that god-awful eye patch. His prosthetic was a constant reminder of his big sister’s love for him.

Louise was a great friend to Harry, but she died tragically at the young age of forty, before she could have a child of her own. In honor of her and to keep his sister’s memory alive, Harry and Josephine lovingly gave their baby girl her name.

~ ♦ ~

Louise’s parents were not wealthy, but they did not struggle financially either. Louise never had to go without, but her parents made sure to instill in her the fact that there were others who did not have the luxuries she had.

Harry took special care to show her what life was like on the other side of the tracks. Periodically, he and Louise made special trips to some of the poorest neighborhoods in New York. One afternoon, he took Louise to a particularly underprivileged neighborhood in the Bronx. When he stopped the car, he turned to her and said, “Look around you, Louise,” and she did.

That day, Louise’s young eyes beheld a poverty-stricken part of one of the most well-known cities in the world. She was surrounded by run-down buildings, many of which were covered in graffiti. There were boarded-up windows and broken-down cars, and unfortunate souls lingered in the streets, sitting on stoops or hanging out of windows.

“Do you see these people?” He pointed to the tenants of rundown apartments, sitting on the stoops in front of the dilapidated building. “They own hardly anything but the clothes on their backs. They can barely afford a place to live. Some nights, they may not even be able to eat.”

Louise was saddened by the things her father told her and all the needy and destitute people she saw, but she understood why he’d taken her there. From then on, she was always keenly aware of how good she had it, and she knew to never take the good things in her life for granted. Harry knew how important it was to make sure his daughter knew that life is not all sunshine and happiness for everyone. It was a lesson she needed to learn, because for much of her childhood, she’d been very fortunate and blessed. She’d only viewed the world through the rose-colored perspective of her decent upbringing, and Harry did his best to show her the other side from time to time. Louise knew that as long as she appreciated the things she had, her father would always make sure she had everything she needed and most things she wanted.

~ ♦ ~

Louise had a happy childhood. Her parents sent her to a private Montessori school, where she could choose the work she wanted to do. She loved her experience there. They gave her the best of what they could afford. Harry and Josephine kept to their parental mantra, “You only get out of a child what you put into them,” so they put everything they had into their daughter.

When she was three years old, she began to show signs of a talent that would allow her tremendous opportunities through her school years; later, unbeknownst to them at the time, it would also serve as her coping mechanism in the months and years that followed 9/11. That talent was her voice. Louise loved watching old TV shows with her mother, and she often mimicked Little Curly Top herself, singing the lyrics to Shirley Temple’s songs.

“Oh, Louise! You sing so beautifully!” Josephine would gush. “Hold on. I want to record this, so Daddy can hear you sing!” Josephine would get out her cassette tape recorder and spend hours listening to Louise sing. She loved watching her daughter express herself in such a way and was often so excited by her little one’s talents that she had to share. “Louise, you just wait till your father gets home! He is going to love hearing you sing!”

When Louise was eight years old, she met a girl named Jill. Before long, the two were inseparable, in spite of their very different home lives and backgrounds. While Louise was an only child, Jill was part of the average American family living in the Bronx at the time. Jill was the oldest of three siblings, raised by a stay-at-home mother. Her younger sister and brother, Elise and John, behaved like little brothers and sisters do. That, of course, involved annoying their older sister, so Jill relished any time she could spend with Louise at her place, away from the pesky ones at home. Louise, likewise, enjoyed spending time at Jill’s home, which was much different than her own, because of Jill’s younger siblings, and all the funny things they would do as a family.

While Josephine was busy with work, Louise spent her summer days at Jill’s house. Josephine always preferred to be on the move. Thus, Louise’s home life was wonderful but far more structured; at Jill’s house, Louise could sleep in and wile away the days playing with Barbies or jumping rope. Jill’s mother, Loretta, even took them out to the pool or to get ice cream or play at the park sometimes, a special treat for Louise. Loretta also loved to bake and often invited the girls to join her in her cookie-and-cake-making, and she cooked dinner for her family every night. This was a far cry different from Josephine, Louise’s mother, who avoided the kitchen as much as possible and absolutely hated to cook.

While Louise enjoyed her outings with Jill’s family, she also went on many with her own mother. Josephine took Louise everywhere, mostly for cultural expeditions; if Louise wanted to spend her time in an art museum, at the symphony, see a Broadway play, or go for tea at the Plaza, Josephine was more than happy to make that happen. On the other hand, if she was after a more casual adventure, such as a dip in the pool or a run-around in the park, Louise did that with Jill and her family. All of this made for a very well-rounded little girl who had many childhood adventures, be they the learning or the playing sort.