I went to NYC for two weeks following the WTC Terrorist Attack as part of a DMORT. DMORT stands for "Disaster Mortuary Operational Response Team." DMORT members are a part of the US Department of Health and Human Services. Our job is to go into a disaster to aid in the recovery of victims, to help identify them and prepare them to go home, and to assist and counsel families throughout the process.

We all receive specialized training and are required to have specialized skills, degrees or licenses to be accepted on the team. I was honored to work with many people who were not only top in their field but some of whom were considered pioneers of their field.

If you have never heard of DMORT, I would not be surprised. I was told later that an anchor on CNN described us as unseen, unheard, and unsung heroes. Being federal workers we are strictly prohibited from being filmed and photographed. As a result, little was known of our operation and work there, and this is exactly how it is intended. Our work is delicate at best - traumatic at worst and, in many cases is best left untold in order to protect victims’ families.

You must understand that there are many parts of my experience that out of respect for those I was there to serve I cannot and will not share but this is not the only reason - while these things were a part of my experience they were not when all was said and done the part of my experience that I have brought home with me. It is not the scenes of horrific tragedy which I harbor in my heart but the scenes of faith, hope, and love that I experienced during my two weeks in NYC which warmed my heart and fortified my spirit to do the work I did while I was there.

And so, my story begins with faith.

On Sunday, September 9, I was in church. That day we had a special speaker, a Nun, who had come to talk to us about mission work. She talked about her mission work in South America, about the sacrifices of being away from family and friends, and of the danger of working in a land run by drug czars and filled with poverty. But she said, that even though she was afraid sometimes, she believed in accomplishing a greater good even if it was at the risk and sacrifice of one’s self. As she spoke, I felt a strong need to sit up and take heed of what she was saying. I had never been on a mission - it was something I had always wanted to do. I remembered clearly thinking that I wondered if my faith would be strong enough, if I was called, to see me through the sacrifices I might have to make.

On Tuesday, September 11, I would be called to a mission. And what I was to find is that faith is something that when brought to task is neither wavering nor fearful. It does not stop to consider one’s self - it does not see its work as a sacrifice or a hardship. Faith does not require a leap - it only requires the belief that should it be necessary to leap there will be arms there to catch you. It was not only my spiritual faith which would sustain me but also my faith in my team. It was the amazing tenacity and courage of this group who were to become much more like family than team members to me over the next two weeks which inspired me and keep my spirits high.

-Eleanor Roosevelt

I was driving into work on a beautiful Tuesday morning. I remember vividly the sun shining through the leaves on the trees that were just beginning to show a hint of color. I stopped at the crosswalk for Smith School and watched as the kids slowly walked by with their friends dragging their feet a bit to slow the inevitable progression into the schoolyard. I was listening to the radio and the song I was humming along to stopped mid-sentence and the announcer in a shaky disbelieving voice announced that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center. I drove on numbly thinking, as we all did, that this must be some sort of a sick joke or nightmare from which I would certainly awake. But this was not to be the case and by the time I reached work and walked in to turn on our small TV, pictures of an unspeakable horror being broadcast in real-time across the nation unfolded on the static filled screen before me. It was at that moment as I sat with my hands to my face in shock watching as yet another plane struck Tower 2 that I knew - I knew that I would be leaving soon.

I felt incredibly calm.

"I have to go," I told my concerned husband that afternoon. "I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t go. Fear can not dictate our actions now. We must act with purpose and calm because people need us they are counting on us and there is no else to do it."

By 10 o’clock that night, I was on my way to Chicago where we would meet up with the rest of our team - the Great Lakes States team. There would be 39 of us in all; 13 from Ohio and only 8 of us women. We got in early that morning and were immediately taken to O’Hare to catch a flight out. I have to be honest that the last thing I wanted to do was get on a plane. I don’t enjoy flying, and working on airline disasters is a constant reminder that my anxiety is not all unfounded. But I was somewhat comforted when I saw a C130 waiting for us on the runway surrounded eerily by a ghost yard of grounded flights scattered about the tarmac. We were also informed that two F16 escorts were awaiting us high above to watch over our journey to our destination, which at the time we had been told would be Washington, DC.

Half-way through our flight the plane turned slowly and began to head north. I turned to the man next to me and yelled over the engines and so he could hear me through his earplugs: "We’re not going to DC!" He nodded his head in agreement. We were indeed turning north for New York.

We arrived at Stuart Air Force Base early that evening. Most of us had not slept in more than 24 hours at that point and as the adrenaline faded exhaustion set in. We were ushered into a large hangar which was to be our quarters. We were to share the "Hilton Hangar" with over 500 people including: reservists, two other DMORT Teams from Regions I and IV, DMAT (Disaster Medical) Teams, DVAT (Disaster Veterinary) Teams, and Search and Rescue Teams all sleeping on the floor on plastic covered mattresses which had been charitably donated by the NY Dept. of Corrections.

The next morning we were briefed and told we would be going into the city later that day. We were given 17 vehicles which we were to drive into the city. We began our caravan down the NY State Turnpike and it was pretty obvious that we were on official business. When other vehicles would drive past they would honk their horns, give us thumbs up signs and sometimes wave American flags.

We were to be greeted at our hotel by many people who clapped and cheered and thanked us for coming to help. This incredible love and overwhelming outpouring of appreciation would continue to warm, encourage us in the next two weeks.

I will never forget my first drive into the city. Our route would take us past the local fire stations where candles sat vigilant on the sidewalks and names and pictures adorned the firehouse doors. We would drive past the walls on which missing posters were attached to every inch of space and faces of smiling people stared back at you from pictures under which families had written messages like "We Love you. Please come home." These would become memorial walls of shattered lives that we would pass nightly on our way through the city.

I would begin my work in NYC working a 7pm to 7am nightshift at the Medical Examiner’s Office. The ME Office was the site for morgue work and identification work. I was given the daunting task of taking reports completed by local police departments on victims, entering that information into a computer and then aiding in identification of those I had entered. Perhaps the most difficult part of my work was that most of the reports came with pictures and stories about the people - their family and their life - and then feeling like I knew these people, in some small way, helping in identification so that they could go home to those families and loved ones for burial. But while it was emotionally difficult, it was equally rewarding to know that this process when it helped to identify someone, was helping a family and it was this that kept me going every night and continues to help me now.

My last few days were spent at the Pier. Piers 92 and 94 comprised the Family Assistance Center and the actual Center of Operations next to which the USS Comfort was docked. This site had a very high level security. It was here that I quickly learned that if you see the secret service get out of the way or they will get you out of the way, and when a Marine on patrol asks you "what is your business?" you better have a quick and good response.

But more importantly it was here that I became close to many Police Officers who were stationed to work security in the building. The area in which I worked was at the back of the long cavernous building and I had a long walk to reach my work area, as a result, I got to know all the security people including the many NYC Police Officers who came to know me as "Ohio".

One night, I had gone outside to sit and look out over the awesome view of the harbor. Some of the policemen were showing around a new officer on the job. They came up to me and my friends and introduced us all.

"Georgia, and Tennessee are fine," they told him, "but watch out for Ohio - she’s trouble."

They also called me "smiley" and thought I was trouble because anyone who could smile at 3am had to be up to something.

On my last day there, I was told that there was an NY Police officer who had been raised in Lancaster, OH working security. I sought her out and when I saw her asked if she was from Ohio she gasped.

"Are you psychic or something?"

I laughed.

"No. I’m from Delaware, Ohio."

She hugged me and said she had heard about the worker from Ohio. She thanked me for coming there, knowing that I was from a little Ohio town just like her, and how awe inspiring and at times overwhelming a city like NY could be, but made warmer and more welcoming than any other city I had ever been to by such a terrible tragedy.

And finally there was coming home and hope.

-Vaclav Havel

Ironically my husband, Joe, and I had made plans to go to NYC for our first anniversary on September 22. One of us was in NYC on our anniversary while the other was home and we were to spend our first anniversary apart. It was a small sacrifice to make, but we were happy to be reunited and celebrate our anniversary a bit late.

I had been asked before I left NYC if I would be willing to return. I told them I would return if called without hesitation. But life had other plans for me for the next few months and I would not be able to return to NYC. I would come home to find out that I was pregnant and that I would be having a baby in May.

I had unknowingly been pregnant while I was in NYC and was shocked and happy to find out that I was expecting when I returned. My team was also delighted - it seemed to be like a little light shining through the darkness that we had descended into. Something that reminded us that life does indeed renew itself and that hope springs eternal even in the midst of war and disaster.

My work began in faith and faith helped me to continue my work and will see me through the future - not only my faith in God but my faith in country and fellow Americans.

I love my country. I love the people of my country and I felt honored and privileged to be able to serve my country and her people. It truly was love that conquered any fear or any emotional upset that I encountered while I was there. It was the love of the NYC people, its firefighters and police whom I worked with and came to respect more than I can possibly convey. It was also in the hospitality and care from local churches who brought us home cooked meals and treats; to the care packages sent us on a semi-truck from as far away as California from both adults and children who wanted to do something to make our days a bit brighter. It was shown in the hugs and smiles of complete strangers on the street who, seeing you in uniform, just knew that you were there to help and wanted to thank you.

I believe that without love there would be no courage. Courage requires the willingness of one to sacrifice out of love whether that be love of one’s country, community, family, friends or fellow human - courage is wrought out of love. It was this courage wrought of love that was demonstrated by the self sacrifice of those who laid down their lives for others. Many people have called September 11th "another day that will live in infamy" but I will prefer to call it "a day of remembering heroes". On September 11th, we were reminded that heroes are not the stuff of Hollywood glamour but the real thing - the true heroes of our world - are our neighbors, our friends, members of our community - law enforcement - firefighters - rescue workers - members of our military - people who have committed their lives to the betterment and protection of our community and our country.

It is this faith, hope, and love that will see us through this time and which will burn as a beacon of liberty throughout the world as a testament of the indomitable spirit of America and her people.

Truly, faith, hope, and love prevail but the greatest of these is love.

On May 30th, 2002 our daughter was born.

 It was the day they officially closed Ground Zero.

 We named her Hope.

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