Who She Was
Angilic Casalduc Soto
Daughter of Vivian Casalduc, microfiche clerk for Empire Blue Cross Blue Shield
“WHY TAKE A CAB when you can walk and see the world?”
That was one of my mother’s favorite sayings. She used to take the train through Brooklyn and then walk over the Manhattan Bridge so she could look at the boats on the pier. At lunchtime, or after work, she’d go down to the park and listen to musicians playing salsa. She’d get up and dance— sometimes with co-workers, sometimes with strangers. She could make an ordinary workday feel like a festival.
She was the cool mom in my neighborhood. When my friends were fighting with their parents, they’d come over to my place and my mom would talk them through it. She could always see things from both points of view—the parent’s and the child’s. And if my friend didn’t want to go home, my mom would say, “Okay, I’ll call your mom and let her know you’re here.”
When I was 16, I lost a friend in a devastating tragedy. Let me tell you, this woman, she was there, she understood. She talked to me. She listened. I never wanted to eat, so she blended up vitamins and put them in protein shakes. And she was there like that for my two older brothers and my stepsister.
Without my mom, I don’t know how I would’ve finished high school. She used to tell us, “Do what makes your blood pump. You need to be passionate about what you do because life is short.”
When I got my associate’s degree, she came to my graduation and then took me to lunch at one of her favorite restaurants. I kept telling her it wasn’t a big deal—I was planning to go on and get a bachelor’s. But she said, “You have to mark every accomplishment as a celebration.” And you know what? I’m extremely grateful because she wasn’t around for any other celebrations after that.
The night before 9/11, my mom told me she wasn’t feeling well and I said, “Don’t go to work if you’re sick.” The next morning, she wasn’t there to meet me at our usual subway stop—we used to meet up along our commute and ride into the city together. I thought maybe she’d stayed home, but I called my brother and he told me she’d gone in earlier.
When I got to my job in Midtown, that’s when I heard about the towers. I ran outside, and when I got to the area, the South Tower had just come down. People were running around screaming. It was smoky and foggy. I saw people jumping, people falling—it was complete chaos.
I don’t remember how I got home. One of my brothers was there and my other brother came to meet us. We went through our photo albums and took out all the pictures we could find of our mother. Then we went to all the hospitals, the shelters, the schools, everywhere they were putting out beds. We gave all the pictures away thinking, “We’ll find her and we’ll get more of her pictures down the line.” This would never happen.
My mom worked on the 28th floor of the North Tower. It wasn’t one of the highest floors and people were able to get out. Later on, a co-worker of hers told us they’d seen my mother coming down, but she’d gone back in to help somebody.
For the longest time, I was very angry. My mom wasn’t a firefighter or an EMT. She wasn’t trained to go back into a building during an emergency. I felt like, How dare you go back in, knowing you had children of your own? She only got to meet a few of my nieces and nephews. She doted on them and took them everywhere, baked them cakes and cookies. My children missed out on all that.
But I have to remember what type of lady this was. This was a lady who would see a pigeon with a broken wing and nurse it back to health. This was a lady who would feed all our friends and neighbors. This was a lady who used to take all the children on the block outside to roller-skate and play handball. Of course she went back to help someone. That’s who she was.
At least I didn’t miss out on having my mom bake for me, play with me, take me to school or help me with my homework. I got 23 years with her. I have to be grateful for that. Somehow, that’s what was meant to be.
“You need to be passionate about what you do because life is short.”