The nation . . . and truly the world . . . have held their collective breath as the search and rescue mission in Surfside, Florida continues.  From that tragedy have unfolded the stories of those who, by a twist of Fate, survived when so many did not.  

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They stood side by side as they spoke to the reporter, holding hands as they described how a soccer match and a whim had saved his life.  Halfway through the interview, she reached for him, clinging to his hand that already held hers, struggling to escape a nightmare that would not end and to maintain what little composure she had left.

They had gathered with friends at her apartment to watch their home country of Brazil play, and when it was over and everyone was leaving, she asked him to stay.  Her child was away for the night.  It would give them some much needed quiet time together.  But he really didn’t want to.  He was tired.  His clothes were wet from retrieving a soccer ball from the complex’s swimming pool.  But she persisted and he finally agreed.  At 5:00 the next morning his alarm went off and that was when he saw the notifications.  And all the text messages asking if he was all right.  His apartment no longer existed and everything he owned was gone.  But he was alive, thanks to a soccer game and her insistence.  The T-shirt she was wearing for the interview had the word “Intuition” scrawled across the front, perhaps a not so subtle reminder that sometimes you should follow your instincts and figure out why later.

Now he comes to the site two or three times a day, irrationally expecting that someone at some point will tell him he can move back home.  While his lifesaver struggled to hold back her tears, he stared vacantly into the distance as he told the reporter, “I haven’t realized what happened.  I haven’t cried.  It’s like a movie playing in my head.  It isn’t real . . .”

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Her mother brought her to the site when the tragedy first occurred.  Somewhere beneath the rubble is her father.  Her parents were estranged, thankfully living in separate buildings, and she would alternate spending time with each.  On that night, it was her mother’s turn.

The next day she came alone.  As the mayor of the city surveyed the damage, he noticed her standing quietly, looking down at her phone.  Engaging her in conversation, he learned of her connection to the building and why she had come back.  Across the screen of her phone flowed the words of a Hebrew prayer.  She had come to recite the prayers of her ancestors on behalf of her father.  And she would continue to come until he was returned to her.

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He had eaten dinner with his parents that evening and returned to his own condo in the building next to theirs just a few hours before.  He could see their abode from his . . . could often see his mother happily working in the kitchen . . . could see them enjoying each other’s company.  It was such a comfort and a delight to see them together, approaching 59 years of marriage. But when, in the very early hours of the morning, the earth shook and dust filled the sky, he raced to his balcony, only to see there was no longer anything to see of what was once their home.  His only consolation was that they died at the same time, his only hope that they were together when it happened.

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They lived on the tenth floor of the south tower, just three from the top, and that is where they were when a portion of the building collapsed.  Both were buried in the rubble, but her 15 year old son managed to work his hand up through the debris and into the open.  A passerby who just happened to be out walking his dog at 1:30 in the morning, heard the collapse, saw the dust as it boiled up, and heard the boy as he screamed.  As the stranger tried to reassure him and summon help, the young man begged, “Please, don’t leave me.  Don’t leave me.  Don’t leave me . . .” He was pulled from the rubble by rescuers as was his mother just a short time later.  He survived the unimaginable.  She did not.

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How many of us have escaped Death’s clutches by mere seconds?  How many of us have passed within a hair’s breadth of him and lived to tell the story?  Every occupant of the Champlain South Tower—everyone who escaped with their lives—has a story to tell.  They are as varied and as heartbreaking as the people themselves and in the days that follow they will be compelled to tell them again and again. At first it will be to help complete the picture of what happened in the early morning hours of Thursday, June 24, 2021 . . . but in the years to come it will serve as a reminder of how one instant in Time, one twist of Fate, changed their lives forever.

About the author:  Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926.  She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there.  Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.

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