I was in bed when my wife came in and told me a plane had hit the World Trade Center. I remember walking into the living room and staring at the screen, trying to understand what I was seeing. I think the first thing I said is, “where’s the other tower?” I couldn’t see it on the screen. I don’t remember if my wife answered. I just kept staring. And then, almost immediately, the tower I could see collapsed before my eyes…

It’s hard to remember my feelings. I know I went to work that day, but specific memories and feelings all seem gone now. I remember trying to reach friends who worked in the Trade Center and in the World Financial Center across the street. It took awhile, but I was able to talk to them. Everyone I personally knew was OK. They told harrowing stories about dodging falling debris, about walking up West Street, crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, crossing the Queensborough bridge, on foot. Walking endlessly. But at least they were safe.

I remember watching the news over the next few days. The recovery efforts. About the missing. Pictures of people holding photographs of their absent family members and friends. The stories about heroic fire-fighters and police lost in the collapsed buildings. Stories about Cantor-Fitzgerald.

Mostly, I remember the sound. High-pitched. Shrill. Not sure what caused the sound. Maybe car alarms? The image on TV was gray, smoke, cloudy, hazy, nothingness. Just that sound, seemingly for days.

There were also “there-but-for-the-grace-of-God” feelings. I’d spent a ton of time in and around the WTC. I worked in 2 WTC for one week in 1985 before moving across the street to the American Express Building. Even after moving to California, I spent a lot of time there when our NYC offices were temporarily back at WTC. Earlier in my career, I’d spent a lot of time in both towers: At the Governor’s office, Port Authority, the World Trade Institute, Windows on the World, the restaurants on the Concourse level. I passed through the WTC almost daily on my way to work for quite awhile.

I remember photographing the towers. I remember thinking about photographing them. I took them for granted. They had been there since I was a teenager. I don’t ever remember them not being there. Until 9/11/2001.

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The months following 9/11 were full of minor personal upheaval. I was changing jobs. Then the new job wasn’t as promised, so I wasn’t changing jobs. I was told that, since I had been planning to leave, the board wanted me to keep leaving. So I offered to resign anyway only to have my new boss ask me to stay. Confusing, yes. So I took some time off, flying off to the Caribbean. A week of doing nothing seemed perfect. Didn’t even take my sticks. And perfect it was…

Our return trip was through New York’s JFK Airport. We heard the NYC weather was going to be in 70’s, highly unusual for December. We didn’t have cold weather clothes with us, so the weather seemed like a blessing. So at the last minute, we arranged to stay over in New York for a couple of days before returning home to California.

We went to dinner the night we arrived. Carnegie Deli, same as usual. New York seemed normal. Just like always. Maybe a little quieter. Not sure.

The next day, we took the subway downtown, and went to an exhibit of WTC photographs hosted by two or three galleries in SoHo. We’d seen many images of 9/11 and the aftermath before, but nothing like all these photographs by amateur and professional photographers. It was truly amazing. And devastating.

We continued our journey, heading south again. We got off at Fulton Street. I figured we’d head over to South Street Seaport, grab some lunch, and then try to get close to Ground Zero. The thing is, I forgot my geography. We climbed the stairs to the street. I turned around and realized where we were. One block from the Trade Center. Except, the Towers were no longer there.

I can’t begin to describe what I felt at that moment. I think I was numb. I know there were tears. Emptiness. Sadness. Anger. I felt everything, fresh, as if for the first time.

The towers were truly gone. This wasn’t a dream. There were still a few shards of the Towers standing, almost in memoriam. Those shards were what I used to walk through entering the building. They were always there, and now they were all that was left.

Devastation. Devastating.

All we could do was walk and look. At what wasn’t there. At the faces, the tears of others we encountered. We must have all looked like zombies. Nothing like the actual event, people walking through dust and debris. And bodies. But zombies nevertheless. The walking wounded.

I’m thankful I had a chance to make that visit. To just be there. One of the most moving moments of my life, and I’ve had a few.

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This morning I watched MSNBC’s rebroadcast of that day’s Today Show coverage. I got to see Katie and Matt report on the attack of 1 WTC, saw the plane hit the North tower (2 WTC), saw that tower collapse. Basically, I was able to watch everything I missed that morning, almost real-time. It’s been five years. A lot has changed since then, but the feelings, at least the ones I remember, are still very real.