Lia Waugh Powell

The famous line “We Will Never Forget” is extremely proper — everyone born before the date of September 11, 2001 will never forget where they were when they heard about the terrorist attacks.  I was seven years old sitting in a classroom struggling to read a book aloud in front of my class.  I was so frustrated being in front of my peers and not being able to read as eloquently as they did.  So when the principal of my school ran into our room and quickly made all of us sit in the main hallway where the television was playing, I didn’t mind.  I hadn’t taken into account the tears that were streaming down her face or the gasps of terror that were going on around me.  I was just so happy for the attention to be off of me.  When each of my classmates had taken a seat in front of the television I began to soak in what I was seeing.  I watched a plane hit one of the towers of the World Trade Center.  I saw images of people jumping out of buildings and the people running from a building that had just collapsed.  They were covered in white dust.  Immediately, as a seven-year-old child, I panicked thinking my mom was working in the building that had been struck.  She was due to give birth to my sister that day.  My mom, being my mom, must have known how scared I was because she called the school.  She reassured me that she was okay, and that she wasn’t in the buildings.  She also told me that my uncle, who was coming down from New York to be with us when my sister was born, was all right, too.

2,996 people died that day.  Approximately only twenty people were rescued from the rubble.  On September 4, 2011, I had the privilege to meet the last survivor pulled out from the debris, Genelle Guzman-McMillan.  Her day started off as any other day.  She arrived at work at 8:05 AM.  She got to her office, which was on the 64^th floor and started catching up with her friends on what they had done over the weekend.  Then the building shook, and her coworkers all exchanged concerned looks.  She didn’t think it was very important though, because she was from Trinidad and thought it was just an earthquake.  They resumed their day.  No alarms went off.  No warnings were issued — they were completely unaware a plane had just struck 30 floors above.  After an hour or so they felt the building shake again.  This is when Genelle knew something was wrong.  She looked out her window and saw papers flying in the sky and a smoky haze.  Genelle and her friends hurried to their conference room and turned the television on.  This is when they saw there had been a possible terrorist attack, and the planes had struck both of the buildings.  Genelle and her coworkers all decided to walk down the stairs; she then called her boyfriend and told him to meet her outside the building.  As they traveled down the stairs, they were not in a hurry.  They figured the building was sturdy enough —  they even had passed a fireman on the way down who told them they were doing okay and they should be fine.  Genelle was holding her good friend Rosa’s hand to help comfort her.  When they reached the 13^th floor, Genelle needed to remove her boots that she had just bought a week prior to 9/11; they were four inches high.  She let go of Rosa’s hand and as soon as she bent over, the walls caved in.  She was pinned to the floor and fell thirteen stories.  She remained conscious the entire time.  She remembers the falling sensation, the people’s screams and cries.  When she hit the ground her head was pinned between two concrete pillars, her legs crossed and her body in a fetal position.  The only thing that was free to move was her left arm.

Genelle told herself repeatedly, “This cannot be happening, it is just a dream.  Just a dream.”  She closed her eyes and opened them again hoping that she would wake up.  The dust was in her nose and mouth.  She realized it wasn’t a dream — she was alive, and a 110-story building had just collapsed on top of her.  She heard a man’s voice call out for help three times — and then it stopped.  Genelle laid under the rubble.  She wanted to cry but her body was incapable of producing tears.  She felt like her head was going to explode.  Genelle recalls extreme temperatures — at one point she was so hot she was sure she was going to burn alive, as if a fire were right underneath her.  And another time she was so cold, her teeth were chattering.  She moved her left arm around to feel around her, looking for anything to pull over her body to keep her warm.  She felt a piece of cloth and pulled on it but could not get it.  She later found out it was a fireman’s body; she was tugging on his coat.  Genelle laid there for 27 hours, giving up the will to survive.  She did not care to live a Christian life before; she always thought she’d get “right” with the Lord around the age of 65.  She didn’t care to live a “conservative” life as Christians do; she’d rather party and get drunk every night.  Suddenly Genelle began to think of her daughter who was 12 at the time.  She began to think of her boyfriend, her family.  She wanted to live, to see her daughter and family again.  She thought of her mother who was a Christian; she always called Genelle and asked her to change her life and follow Christ, and every time Genelle dismissed her.  Genelle decided to cry out to God, begging for his forgiveness and his mercy to pour over her.  She asked God to save her, promising him if he did she would live for him.  She asked for a sign, anything to show her he existed and he loved her, that she would survive. She cried out that same prayer for about an hour.

Genelle then decided to reach her arm up, to feel around so maybe someone would see her.  A hand grabbed hers and said “Genelle, I’ve got you.”  She did not tell him her name, but a wave of relief came upon Genelle.  She said, “Thank you, God,” and then asked his name.  “Paul,” he said.  “I’m going to stay with you until they find you.  I’m not going to let go of your hand.  They will be here soon; I’m not going to leave you.”  Paul held her hand until rescue workers found her.  It took the workers one hour to remove all of the rubble from on top of her.  She had been buried for twenty-seven hours.  A line of people had formed, and they all passed her down to the ambulance.  The people cheered and clapped as she was brought to the hospital.  She was the last person alive to be recovered from the tragedy.  All of her coworkers had died.  When she got to the hospital her boyfriend rushed to her side in tears.  Immediately, Genelle told him to write down the name Paul, the man who saved her life.  He did, and to this day she has not been able to find him.  She believes he is an angel.

When I heard her story, I couldn’t stop myself from crying.  I had met Genelle when I was twelve years old, but I wasn’t mature enough to understand the weight of what had happened to her.  Five years later, she was sitting before me with her husband (her boyfriend during 9/11); they married in November, as soon as she was released from the hospital.  She has two children with him, one is six years old, the other is two.  Genelle’s survival was a miracle.  She survived one of the worst acts of terrorism the world has ever seen.  She fell thirteen stories and had 97 floors crumble on top of her, and she is still fully functional: mentally and physically.  But this Genelle is not the Genelle before September 11, 2001.  She is now a best selling author for her book Angel in the Rubble and travels the world telling people about God and how he saved her.  Her story has saved thousands of souls.  A day so tragic to our nation — God has used to save many people.  We will never forget September 11, 2001.  And we should never forget that only our God can use something so terrible to show his love for us and to bring glory to him.