Isaac Feliciano (IF)

IF: They say it’s the highest point of Brooklyn, so you could see the fire, the flames and all the smoke. I said, ‘Oh, my god my wife is there.’ She worked on the 96th floor, but I was just hoping for the best. My daughter was 2 years old, a few days later she just started screaming and crying, calling her mother. That’s when it hit me. And then the first week of January, right shortly after New Years, two police detectives rang my door bell and they told me that they had found part of her–just the upper torso. And um, I guess I was so numb I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know what to say. We were married ten years. We talked about everything and she always made me see the better side of things, always. That was one of the things that I cherished about her the most. Whenever I feel down I just go over there to the gravesite and I uh, talk to her about the girls. And it makes me feel like she’s still with me and that I can go see her anytime and go talk to her anytime. The cemetery’s big and sometimes I realize I’m driving by where she’s buried at, but I’m supposed to be somewhere else. Like, What the hell am I doing down here. I’m supposed to be on the other side of the cemetery. When I get like that, then I say ‘You know what? I need to go see her’. So, the next day, when I come in, I go straight there and I stop. It’s gonna be already what, fourteen years. And um, when I cross the bridge every morning, I see the city and it just doesn’t look the same anymore. I just see that new tower there but um, I can’t see myself going there for no reason at all. Her name is Rosa Maria Feliciano. She’s buried here, so Green-Wood Cemetery is ground zero for me.