We All Fall Down: The True Story of the 9/11 Surfer (26 page)

~ Louise Buzzelli

Pasquale opened the front door of his home and tried to sneak inside quietly. It was mid afternoon, and he did not want to wake Hope if she was napping. As he crept into the house, he thought he heard music playing, but when he came into the kitchen, everything was quiet. He opened the refrigerator, hoping to find some leftovers to snack on.

Just then, Louise came in, carrying Hope.

“Hey. How are my girls?” Pasquale asked.

“We are great, aren’t we, Hope?” Louise passed Hope to her daddy and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Hope was just helping me with something in the living room. How are you? How did your first therapy session go?”

“Well…fine, I guess.” Pasquale immediately started feeling uncomfortable. He had been raised to believe that men should be pillars of strength for their families, and, right or wrong, he worried that people would see his need for therapy as a sign of weakness. Psychotherapy was not something the Buzzellis did, but then, no other Buzzellis had gone through what he had. Still, as much as he was sure he needed it, he still worried about the stigma it would carry.

~ ♦ ~

Pasquale took a deep breath before stepping into John’s office. John was his boss at the Port Authority and was one of the few people Pasquale was willing to talk to about what he was feeling. John had an open-door policy and made sure his employees knew that he cared about their needs and concerns. Even though Pasquale knew John would not judge him and would keep everything confidential, Pasquale still worried about how John would react to what he had to say.

“Hey, John,” Pasquale said as he entered the office. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Hi, Pasquale! Great to see you!” John stood and shook Pasquale’s hand. “Have a seat. What’s on your mind?”

“Thank you, John.” Pasquale paused, then continued, “Uh, well, I-I’m not sure how to say this—”

“You can say whatever you want to me. You know I want all of you to feel comfortable coming to me with any issues you are dealing with.”

“Thanks, John. Well, you already know what happened. I punched a hole in the freaking wall. To be honest, that was not even the low point of all of this. I have never felt like this. When I am not angry, I’m depressed, and when I’m not depressed…well, damn. I’m
always
depressed. I cannot even sleep through the night. I am always tired because I wake up two or three times a night feeling really nervous, like someone is chasing me, even though I know they are not. When I finally wake up after managing a few hours of sleep, I always have this knot in my stomach. I get scared every time I think about driving to work, driving to the city. I worry all the time. I am even concerned this is going to stop me from ever advancing here, and that means I won’t be able to take care of my family, of Louise and Hope. I just…I feel horrible, John. Fuck, the only thing I can do normally is eat, and as I’m sure you can tell by looking at me, I do way too much of that. I just… I need a break, I think. I can’t keep doing this.”

“Whoa, Pasquale.” John shook his head, and Pasquale’s heart started to race.

Oh God! What if I said too much? What if fires me right now?
             

“First off,” John continued, “don’t you dare worry about your job here. To tell you the truth, I was wondering how you were able to come back to work so quickly. It didn’t make sense. What you went through is unimaginable. I am glad you came to me with this, and I promise it will stay between us, but I hope you will not hesitate to talk to a professional about this.”

“I don’t know, John. I’m not sure—”

“I really hope you will think about it, Pasquale. In fact, I have a number around here somewhere.” He began rifling through the papers on his desk. “Ah, here it is.” He scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Pasquale. “That’s the number of Mosse. She’s helping a friend of mine who’s having trouble coping with everything that happened. Maybe she can help you too. Like Pat used to say, we’ve got to ‘work hard and play hard.’ Well, you definitely need a break from working hard. You need to take some time off from work and spend it with your family. That daughter of yours needs you to get better, all right?”

“Wow, John. Are you sure?”

“I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. And don’t worry. This will in no way affect your reputation around here. You are great at your job, and we’re happy to have you, but we want you at 100 percent, okay?”

“Thanks again, John.” Pasquale could not believe how lucky he was to have such an amazing and understanding boss. Really, everyone he worked with was so kind and considerate, and he was very grateful for that. He promised John that he would think about therapy and took his leave.

~ ♦ ~

“So he gave you the time off?” Louise asked that night when Pasquale told her about his conversation with John.

“Yeah. He says I should take as long as I need and that it will not affect my job at all.”

“That’s so great of him, Pasquale! You really do deserve some time to get better.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said.” Pasquale took a deep breath before his next sentence. “He also gave me the number of a therapist.”

“A therapist? Really?”

“He said she’s helping a friend of his, trying to help him cope with something like what I’m feeling. What do you think, Nunu?”

Louise thought about it for a moment. She definitely thought it was a good idea. She could tell her husband was not himself, was not well, but she did not want to seem too eager for him to get therapy, just in case that might offend him. “You know what? I think it couldn’t hurt, could it? I mean, maybe you can try it, and if you don’t like it, just stop going. There isn’t a downside, really, and if it helps you…well, I mean, that would be great.”

~ ♦ ~

“How was your doctor? Is she a nice lady?” Louise asked Pasquale, hoping he would open up a little rather than just grunting short answers at her.

“Yeah, the doctor is great.”

“Mosse Burns, huh? That’s an unusual name. I wonder where it comes from.”

“I didn’t think to ask her that.”

“You should next time. I bet there’s an interesting story behind it. Anyway, did she have anything to say?”

“What do you mean?” Pasquale asked, his back turned to her. He already knew what she meant, but he was not at all eager to share his diagnosis with anyone—not even her. He did not want Louise to know there was something wrong with her husband.

“What the hell do you think I mean?” Louise asked, laughing. “Did she say why you haven’t been feeling well?”

Pasquale could not help but smile to himself. He was very grateful to his seemingly all-knowing wife for understating his issues. He had tried his best to suffer in silence, but he knew she had witnessed him at his lowest; she’d seen just how quickly he was spiraling down, and it had to be worrying her to death. However, Louise also knew how much pride her husband took in being a strong man who would never let his family down. So, when she said he had not been “feeling well,” Pasquale understood that she was doing her best to protect his feelings and his masculinity. After a moment of silent appreciation for his wife knowing him so well, he answered, “Well, Dr. Burns says I have something called ‘post-traumatic stress disorder’”

“PTSD?” Louise asked. “Hmm. I’ve heard about that on the news. They say a lot of people have been feeling that. Isn’t that what happens to soldiers returning from war?”

“Yeah, that’s what she said. She said I also have something called ‘survivor’s guilt.’ It means I don’t know how to deal with being the one who actually made it out of the building.”

Louise thought about his words for a moment; that “survivor’s guilt” was something she could relate to, especially after seeing the
PEOPLE Magazine
cover. She thanked God every day for saving her husband, but she also felt guilty that she had her husband and those other women did not. For once, she knew exactly how her husband was feeling, so she decided she’d return the favor and open up to him a bit. “P., can you come into the living room please?” She led him into the blue piano room, and she sat down in front of the keys.

He was perplexed, but he said nothing. He simply stood there, waiting to see what she wanted to show him.

Louise was worried about how he would react, fearing that it might bring every depressing thought back to him.
But damn it. If I don’t start playing now, I’ll never have the courage to do it again!
And with that, she closed her eyes and started playing the song, the one she’d titled, “A Mother’s Prayer.” She sang sweetly as she played: “Sunshine in the sky…all I could ask was why…”

As his wife played and sang the melody and the words, that outpouring of the pain in her heart, Pasquale began to feel overwhelmed. He started to feel overwhelmed and had to sit down as she sang…

“Sunshine in the sky…

All I could ask was why.

Would I see you again?

Would my heart ever mend?

But I had Hope to believe

that you would never leave.

Angels there, by your side,

saved and kept you alive.

Tell me why, God.

What’s going on in this world?

Fathers have died, God,

but you saved the man I adore…

Sunshine in her smile…

She’s got her daddy’s eyes,

eyes blue as the sky,

eyes that never lie.

Tell me why, God.

What’s going on in this world?

Fathers have died, God.

Our children are what we live for…

What words could I say?

Thoughts of you with each passing day…

To do this alone,

his name etched in stone…

Tell me why, God.

What’s going on in this world?

Fathers have died, God.

Please give them the strength to go on…

Maybe there is Hope

for mothers I know,

blessed by a small child,

sunshine in their smile…”

Jesus Christ! I-I didn’t know,
Pasquale thought as he listened to the words pouring out of his wife in that lovely, angelic, melodic voice of hers.
I didn’t know she felt this way. God, her voice is so beautiful, I can’t believe I have her here with me.

Pasquale had been feeling distant from everyone, even his wife, but as he listened to her sing her song, her “Mother’s Prayer,” he remembered exactly why he had fallen in love with her. No matter how bad things got, she always found the strength to go on, but what was more amazing to him was how she somehow still managed to take care of everyone else, even as she suffered.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Singing Songs

“
I think music in itself is healing. It’s an explosive expression of humanity. It’s something we are all touched by. No matter what culture we’re from, everyone loves music.”

~ Billy Joel

Louise stood alone in a room that would not have been large enough for her to lie down in. A dim light hung overhead, casting a yellow glow over her. On a music stand in front of her were two pictures spread out so she could see their faces. One of them held lyrics, printed on a picture of Pasquale holding Hope in his arms; the other was the same photo that had been haunting her for months: thirty-one women, all seemingly trying their hardest to put on brave faces as they clung to their newborn babies.

Louise looked down at them as she held her hands over the speakers on the headset she was wearing. Even now, months later, that picture broke her heart. Her eyes filled with tears when she thought about the agony those women surely had to endure daily, every time they saw little pieces and reminders of their torn-away husbands in their children’s tiny eyes or faces.
I don’t know. I just don’t know where this is going, but I swear, I can’t sleep at night, thinking of every one of you. I can’t just let this one go, and I will do whatever I can to somehow, in some way try to help you and your babies,
she thought as the music started playing in her ears and she disappeared into the greatest sanctuary she had ever known…

~ ♦ ~

A few days after Louise played the song for Pasquale, Cousin Joanne, Ralph and his wife Nara, and their friends Mike and Dara came over. The Martires and the Buzzellis were best friends, and the bond between them had grown even stronger when their children, Hope and little Michael, were born just three hours apart. Mike and Dara were one of the few couples who could understand what Louise and Pasquale were dealing with after 9/11. Mike, an NYPD lieutenant at Brooklyn North, had seen the carnage firsthand; if it were possible that anything good could come from such a tragedy, it was that those two families had grown even closer.