Showing posts with label 9/11. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 9/11. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Monday, September 11, 2006
Sanford M. Stoller - A Tribute
Sanford "Sandy" Stoller worked as a System Analist for Accenture and was working in the World Trade Center on 9/11/01. He was only 54 years old.
He was husband to Trudy for 31 years; and father to two sons, Eric & Glenn, who were the light of his life and a source of great pride.
He was a husband, a father, a son, a neighbor, a friend, a co-worker. He was valued, appreciated and loved. He will be missed, always.
I feel inadequate to pay tribute to a man I never knew but haved vowed to never forget. I don't have words to adequately express my sorrow to his family and friends for their loss. I feel helpless to do so.
Perhaps it's best to let those who knew "Sandy" honor him.
- His neighbor says he was friendly with a laughing smile that was "like the sunshine."
- A co-worker remembered him as kind and considerate, a joy to work with and a person who would go out of his way to help others.
- A childhood friend said he was like a big brother.
- A friend describes him as "sunshine when he entered a room" with a great laugh and a great personality.
- His wife and sons think of him everyday.
Thank you Legacy.com and September 11, 2001 Victims.
Honor the lives lost on September 11, 2001. Go to 2996 to read more tributes.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
I Remember 9-11-01.
On September 11, 2001, America was attacked on her own soil. Over 3000 people lost their lives and our nation was changed forever. Monday marks the 5th anniversary of this heinous act. Shannon over at Rocks in My Dryer is encouraging us to post our recollections of that day, to grab that piece of personal history and record it for ourselves and for the generations to follow - so that we will never forget.
It was early.
It was not yet seven o'clock yet. Early for a pregnant momma of four kids. But Joe Cool, an early riser even then, had gotten me up. He was not yet two years old. The other kids were still asleep and I wanted to keep it that way; he and I were still both sleepy, so we turned on the TV to check out PBS.
It wasn't Barney or Sesame Street though. What we saw was Breaking News on every channel. The first plane had already crashed, the news cameras were fixed on the smoking 1st Tower. They were reporting that a small airplane had perhaps accidentally crashed into the tower. And then as we sat there watching the live-feed of smoke billowing from the 1st Tower, the second plane hit Tower 2.
What was that??!!
Moments later it became all too clear, this was no accident.
What in the world is going on?
Then there was news from the Pentagon and the news that perhaps the White House and Capital Hill might not be safe. And news of Flight 93. The United States of America was under attack.
It was scary. The day seemed gray and somehow cold. And I felt vunerable even though we were miles and miles away from the attack. I wanted to talk to Pastomac, to hear his voice. But he was already at work. I would have to wait until he called me on his break.
I was transfixed, glued to the TV. I couldn't stop watching, couldn't wrap my mind around the magnitude of the events that were taking place right before my eyes.
How could this be happening?
I sat there bewildered, watching. And as I watched...unbelieveably the towers fell. In moments there was nothing left but smoke and dust and disbelief.
I was stunned. I couldn't believe it.
All those people...gone.
I don't remember the other children waking up. I know I got them breakfast and did other Motherly things, but I don't remember doing them.
Pastormac had gone to work that day at 4AM that morning, and because he was working at McDonalds (don't ask) I would just have to wait for him to call me when he had a break. It was almost unbearable waiting for his call. I wanted to talk to him. I needed to talk to him. I had to hear his voice, to ask him if he'd heard what had happened, to tell him to hurry home when his shift was over.
And it was a relief when he did come home several hours later. Someone with whom to share the anger, the horror, the terror and the sadness. When he came in he looked tired, weary not just because he had been up since the middle of the night, he was wearing the sadness on his shoulders like a heavy coat.
Even now, when I think about what happened, it boggles my mind. It burdens my soul. It weighs heavy on my heart. How can this be real? But it is.
Our lives, our nation, the world, would never be the same.
It was early.
It was not yet seven o'clock yet. Early for a pregnant momma of four kids. But Joe Cool, an early riser even then, had gotten me up. He was not yet two years old. The other kids were still asleep and I wanted to keep it that way; he and I were still both sleepy, so we turned on the TV to check out PBS.
It wasn't Barney or Sesame Street though. What we saw was Breaking News on every channel. The first plane had already crashed, the news cameras were fixed on the smoking 1st Tower. They were reporting that a small airplane had perhaps accidentally crashed into the tower. And then as we sat there watching the live-feed of smoke billowing from the 1st Tower, the second plane hit Tower 2.
What was that??!!
Moments later it became all too clear, this was no accident.
What in the world is going on?
Then there was news from the Pentagon and the news that perhaps the White House and Capital Hill might not be safe. And news of Flight 93. The United States of America was under attack.
It was scary. The day seemed gray and somehow cold. And I felt vunerable even though we were miles and miles away from the attack. I wanted to talk to Pastomac, to hear his voice. But he was already at work. I would have to wait until he called me on his break.
I was transfixed, glued to the TV. I couldn't stop watching, couldn't wrap my mind around the magnitude of the events that were taking place right before my eyes.
How could this be happening?
I sat there bewildered, watching. And as I watched...unbelieveably the towers fell. In moments there was nothing left but smoke and dust and disbelief.
I was stunned. I couldn't believe it.
All those people...gone.
I don't remember the other children waking up. I know I got them breakfast and did other Motherly things, but I don't remember doing them.
Pastormac had gone to work that day at 4AM that morning, and because he was working at McDonalds (don't ask) I would just have to wait for him to call me when he had a break. It was almost unbearable waiting for his call. I wanted to talk to him. I needed to talk to him. I had to hear his voice, to ask him if he'd heard what had happened, to tell him to hurry home when his shift was over.
And it was a relief when he did come home several hours later. Someone with whom to share the anger, the horror, the terror and the sadness. When he came in he looked tired, weary not just because he had been up since the middle of the night, he was wearing the sadness on his shoulders like a heavy coat.
Even now, when I think about what happened, it boggles my mind. It burdens my soul. It weighs heavy on my heart. How can this be real? But it is.
Our lives, our nation, the world, would never be the same.
