"Two days later, when I finally arrived home on that terrible Tuesday, Sept. 11, I heard that Clarin had not returned from work. A neighbor took in her mail. Clarin's phone kept ringing. A close friend later told me there were 90 phone calls on Clarin's answering machine that day — people who knew she worked at the World Trade Center checking in to make sure she was O.K. Over the week, her bills, letters, and junk mail kept arriving. Sunlight streamed into her apartment. Clothes were delivered from the dry cleaner. She was away and yet still here in some disturbing invisible way. Clarin seemed neither alive nor dead. We kept seeing the image of the World Trade Center buildings tumbling down in a hurricane of debris, concrete, steel and asbestos — but no people. Tiny mementos of lives floated down from the sky as papers settled onto the street with scraps of information or scribbled notes or lists. All other signs of the buildings' inhabitants had been reduced to a thick, dusty layer of ash. Life both continued and stood still."
- NY Times, September 25, 2001