[Congressional Record Volume 148, Number 114 (Wednesday, September 11, 2002)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page E1555]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




  CENTRAL NEW JERSEY SHARES THE ACCOUNT OF TRADE CENTER VICTIM FAMILY 
                         MEMBER SARAH VAN AUKEN

                                 ______
                                 

                           HON. RUSH D. HOLT

                             of new jersey

                    in the house of representatives

                     Wednesday, September 11, 2002

  Mr. HOLT. Mr. Speaker, I rise today to share with you an article 
written by Sarah Van Auken, 13 year-old daughter of World Trade Center 
victim Kenneth Van Auken. It was published last week in her local 
newspaper, and it presents a straightforward account of how the 
nightmare of September 11 unfolded before the eyes of a young person 
who found herself thrust suddenly onto the front lines of a war she 
didn't even know was taking place. It shows us not just how deeply 
painful and terrifying it is for a child to lose a parent, but also how 
this young women's own feelings of fear, confusion and uncertainty as 
the day unfolded were magnified by that fact that she saw just the same 
feelings among the adults around her. Sarah Van Auken's life since that 
day became a swirling tapestry of endless tears, helpless longing for 
her father, and newfound celebrity born of the worst set of 
circumstances she could possibly have imagined. Out of her pain, she 
wrote a song in honor and memory of her father. The song paints a 
picture that perhaps we all might see ourselves within. A picture of a 
person, standing, quietly, waiting, listening for the faintest sound on 
the wind of the guiding hand that will come back and show us show how 
to get through this, the guiding hand that we can grasp so that we'll 
find ourselves together again, safely, home. This has been a year of 
deep searching and painful discovery for us all, and I would like to 
share Sarah Van Auken's account of it with you.

       This past year has been very hard for me. You see, my 
     father, Kenneth Van Auken, was in the World Trade Center on 
     Sept. 11, 2001. No, he did not escape--but he did leave a 
     message saying, ``I love you. I'm in the World Trade Center. 
     The building was hit by something. I don't know if I'm going 
     to get out but I love you very much. I--I hope I'll see you 
     later. Bye.'' That was the single most horrible thing I had 
     ever heard in my life. He was trying to stay calm for us--
     trying to let his last words be ``I love you.'' Somehow, I 
     wish I could go back in time and erase all that happened. 
     Maybe even stop him from going to work. I wish I could have 
     one last goodbye. But I guess it's too much to ask.
       You're most likely wondering how I found out. Well, I was 
     having a regular day at school. You know, boring--yet I was 
     with my friends. Anyway, I was in study hall minding my own 
     business when someone yelled out, ``Is it true that a plane 
     crashed into the World Trade Center?'' Knowing my dad worked 
     there, I wrote a note to my friend next to me saying, ``If 
     that's true, my dad would be dead!'' I didn't believe what he 
     said because the teacher acted like nothing happened. Also, I 
     wouldn't trust that kid. So as the day went on, I felt weird. 
     You know like when you know that something is wrong, but you 
     really don't think about it? At eighth period, around 1:30 
     p.m., an announcement came on saying there is a ``little 
     accident'' in New York--and if we get home and one of our 
     parents are not there, we should not worry. If you get 
     scared, we should call 911 or talk to the police. That's when 
     I got scared. When I was walking down the hallway, I almost 
     started crying, but held back my tears. When I got in the car 
     to go home, my neighbor who drives me tried to get one of my 
     classmates to stop talking about the announcement. She was 
     obviously trying to stay away from the subject. Then, when we 
     got to that boy's house, his dad started talking about it. He 
     didn't say what happened, but gave me a weird look. I got 
     home and saw my grandparents' car. I knew they weren't 
     supposed to be there. I saw my mom with a tear stained face, 
     and I ran up to her and she didn't have to tell me. I just 
     cried.
       From that day on, nothing has been the same. Nobody has 
     treated me the same. Nobody wanted to talk about it--yet they 
     couldn't help asking me questions about what had happened, 
     and how I was doing. When I knew for sure, after three days, 
     that my father was dead, I cried harder than I have ever 
     cried in my life. My father, my superman, was dead. We had a 
     memorial, and went on ``Oprah.'' I wouldn't eat. I couldn't 
     sleep in my own bed. I would cry about the smallest things. I 
     was wearing one of his shirts, to feel close to him. I was 
     looking at family pictures, Of course, I was still crying. I 
     couldn't figure out what would make me stop being so 
     depressed and irritable. I had to get it out. I wanted to 
     scream, run, jump--but I couldn't. I just didn't have the 
     strength. I cried too much.
       So, I did what I usually did to get out my feelings: I 
     wrote a song. I sang it to my mom and she called my 
     godmother, who called her brother in-law, who told me to 
     record myself singing and send it to him. Exactly a month 
     after Sept. 11, I recorded it in a studio. The song titled 
     ``Daddy's Little Girl'' was on a local radio station twice, 
     once in California and on ``Larry King Weekend.'' I always 
     wanted publicity because I wanted to be famous--but not this 
     way. Today I am still crying, when nobody's around. I think 
     about what happened constantly, but can't really talk about 
     it. And though I may sound selfish, somehow I think nobody 
     knows how I really feel. My life is turned upside down. The 
     things I used to do I either can't do anymore, or I've lost 
     interest, or they seem so much harder. I'm trying to ``move 
     on,'' but I don't want to. My mind has accepted that he's 
     dead, but my heart hasn't. And somehow, I don't think my 
     heart will. Because I'll never stop crying, not in a million 
     years.
       Sometimes, it will hit me that he's gone forever--that he's 
     never coming home. I recently had a Bat Mitzvah. It was very 
     hard, just like the 11th of every month is hard, and Father's 
     day, my mom's birthday, my brother's birthday, my birthday, 
     my dad's birthday, and most of all next week's Sept. 11 
     anniversary. I know most of the teens that are reading this 
     might often think about what it would be like if you lost a 
     parent. I used to wonder, too. Except now I don't wonder, I 
     know.

                          Daddy's Little Girl

                          (By Sarah Van Auken)

     Standing-daddy's little girl (just); Standing (yeah)-daddy's 
           little girl . . .
     I wonder, wonder through the trees, blow the wind, blow the 
           wind to me. Control, controlling my fears, somewhere, 
           behind these tears. And may, maybe you'll appear, 
           somehow whisper in my ear (my ear, my ear!)


                                 CHORUS

     If you were just standing here, I could erase these tears of 
           mine! And all these words would disappear, oh! 
           Standing-daddy's little girl (just); Standing (yeah)-
           daddy's little girl . . .
     Can it, can it be, that the wind is guiding me! Daddy are you 
           there? `cause I've, I've looked everywhere I need, I 
           need you! What should, what should I do! And may, maybe 
           you'll appear, somehow whisper in my ear (my ear, my 
           ear!)


                                 CHORUS

     If you were just standing here, I could erase these tears of 
           mine! And all these words would disappear! I just want 
           to find you, but there's nothing I can do. Where do you 
           roam? i just want you HOME!!!!
     Standing-daddy's little girl (just); Standing (yeah)-daddy's 
           little girl . . .

           

                          ____________________