The Third Wave_ A Volunteer Story - Alison Thompson [11]
What I did do, once I recovered, was make up my mind to change continents. My parents were good people, but I longed to move forward into the world outside my childhood bubble. I was now in my mid-twenties; it was time to grow up.
I resolved to make a fresh start in America. Starting over would bring a whole new set of challenges, but at least I would know that I was on my own and that I could learn from my mistakes. I limped out of my old life and into one of my own creation.
CHAPTER 3
When I woke up from my dead sleep two days after returning home from Ground Zero, I felt a deep sense of guilt for being alive. I was in my mid-thirties and my life had already been a full one. I would have willingly swapped it to save anyone in those buildings. The guilt consumed me. I screened my phone calls, talking only to my family and a few friends. I didn’t leave my apartment for a week. I felt that if I shut out New York, I would be able to shut out all the hurt that hung in the air like bad meat on a sweltering day. I turned on the television and watched the tragedy for the first time through someone else’s eyes. I cried until no more tears came out.
On the seventh day, I was ready to talk. My New York friends had heard about my adventures through my friend Katie and wanted to know if I was okay. They decided to cheer me up by giving me tickets to The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. Waiting in the show’s lobby, I met a woman named Samantha Aezen. She was working for the American Red Cross New York chapter and had some cards that children had written to the Ground Zero workers. She handed me one from a little girl that said: “If you have a broken heart, you can have mine.”
After a short conversation with Samantha, I decided to join up with the American Red Cross the next day and head back to Ground Zero. I had felt a strange impulse all week to go back to help, and I realized that the Red Cross might be the only way I could gain official access.
I placed my plans for my just-completed feature film on hold in order to volunteer. After all, my primary film investor and dear friend Jonathon Connors had now been declared dead. Every little detail in my life seemed shallow and insignificant compared to the important work I could be doing at Ground Zero.
I also had broken up with my boyfriend seven months earlier and had no one to come home to anyway. Nearly all of the volunteers who worked at Ground Zero had children and partners, but they felt called to a higher cause, and their families respected their decision. With my relative freedom, both in terms of home and work life, I felt that I had absolutely no excuse not to pour my heart into the recovery efforts.
I had about $10,000 in the bank. I knew that would be enough to cover several months of rent and expenses, and I felt confident that I would be able to stretch the funds somehow. Many of the volunteers, including myself, later found themselves short on cash, but relatives and friends came through to help us out.
The American Red Cross based their volunteer operations out of their Brooklyn chapter, just across the Brooklyn Bridge from Manhattan. All you needed to join was proof that you were over twenty-one years old and a bill stating that you were currently living in New York. They were so busy that, as far as I could tell, they were allowing every type of person in New York into their organization.
I mentioned my time at Ground Zero and expressed interest in returning to the innermost zone. They took my photo and made me sign a few documents promising to conduct myself in an appropriate manner. Then they signed me up to be a basic