Liberty Plaza near the World Trade Center was engulfed in dust and debris on September 11, 2001. The day, although cloudless and nearing autumn, turned haunting with its stark blue sky that eventually appeared through the smoke where the towers once stood. Weeks later, I participated in decorating the Cathedral of St. John the Divine for a memorial service to honor employees lost from the Windows on the World restaurant.
The day is deeply linked with flowers for me. Working in New York’s floral business to support my writing dreams led me into the heart of the city’s affluent zones and even up to the 107th floor of the North Tower. I was fortunate not to be working that morning, and I did not lose a loved one in the attack. Even so, it took years to put my emotions into words, culminating in a piece published nearly two decades later.
Life after that day brought its own set of challenges and joys, from moving homes to new jobs and a shift to a global pandemic scenario. Changes encompassed everything from personal accomplishments to losses like my father’s death and my mother’s dementia. Yet, gratitude fills me for each day lived since then.
On September 10th, I was on the 107th floor of the World Trade Center, tending to flowers. Our team regularly checked various arrangements at Windows on the World, ensuring they were fresh amid its bustling patrons. While there, I admired the Behind-the-scenes workers who became familiar faces, appreciating the floral displays we maintained.
The restaurant was engulfed in smoke during the attacks. I watched helplessly from my Brooklyn apartment as a second plane hit the tower. I later learned from a colleague that an errand kept her from heading to the World Trade Center that morning. We lost 73 staff members of Windows on the World that day. The chef survived by chance, being on another errand during the attacks.
Despite my relief for those personal connections safe, grief and the details of the tragedy settled heavily. Our floral studio eventually prepared for a memorial service, struggling under the weight of arranging blooms for a funeral we couldn’t comprehend, designed for a life we desperately wished to celebrate.
The aftermath brought heart-wrenching details to light. Media reports recounted trapped staff using the flowers in a bid to find respite from the smoke. Those flowers that had seen joy and opulence transformed into a last connection to life.
Despite moving away from articles and news reports, the memories linger, fueled by personal recollections and stories shared. The rush of life’s demands eventually returns, yet for those fleeting hours, vivid memories feel almost tangible. Lingering thoughts of colleagues I’ve since forgotten along with remembering snippets of fleeting conversations.
Years later, with each remnant of that day, whether shared or in solitude, offers a somber opportunity to honor those whose lives were touched forever.
Andrea Louie is Executive Director of the Serica Initiative in New York, which supports Asian communities across the country. She is also the author of “Moon Cakes” and co-editor of “Topography of War: Asian American Essays.”
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