Angel in the Rubble: The Miraculous Rescue of 9/11's Last Survivor (An Inspiring Memoir)

by Genelle Guzman-McMillan

I still planned to tell someone as I’d promised to God, but this gave me a little more time to prepare.

I wasn’t legal. Why should I be helped? I had realized by that time how wrong it was to be in the country without permission. Yes, I had come to America to work hard and make a better life for my daughter and me, but it didn’t mean I could circumvent the rules. At the same time, how could I turn her kindness down, given the condition I was in? I smiled and thanked her profusely, and I thanked God for such a wonderful woman. It was one less thing to worry about—one less very big thing, at least for the moment.

Pasquale had somehow also survived. Having been right in front of Rosa and me when the building collapsed, he went through the same harrowing experience I did. But somehow, when all the dust settled, he found himself on top of the rubble. He was unconscious for a few hours immediately after the collapse, I was told, but eventually he woke up and was rescued, having suffered some cuts, a broken foot, and a concussion.

that was where the good news ended as far as the sixteen of us who went down the stairs together were concerned.

I continued to cry every night for several nights as I looked at that photo and thought about losing her . . . and Susan . . . and all the people in our group. I even asked God if He could perform some more of His miracles and help their families find them alive. I knew that wasn’t going to happen, but praying to Him about it was all I could do. It made for some very long, lonely, tearful nights.

They didn’t know about my quiet cries at night or that the transformation I’d gone through in finding God was more than just words. There was enough concern that they requested a psychiatrist come in to talk to me.

He continued to press with all kinds of questions, as if he knew me better than I did. He even asked me about my childhood.

what they didn’t know, and what they were about to find out, was that God was my psychiatrist. I talked to Him every day, several times a day. I read His book and found so many passages that pertained to my life. I was a new creation. And all I wanted to do was get home and start my new life.

cherished this quiet time, as it gave me a chance to reflect on my life, on how much it had changed since 9/11 and on how much it would continue to change as I grew closer to God. While I was buried alive, I had solemnly vowed to God that I would change and become the person He wanted me to be, no matter what. My promise was more than an empty resolution. I had been transformed. I knew that it was time to act on my promises to Him. During my physical rehab, I set three short-term goals for myself toward continuing my transformation: get baptized, get married, and find Paul—the man who first found me and deserved every bit of my gratitude.

knew that one of the best and surest ways to keep a promise was to make it a priority in my life. I wasn’t going to let my vows to God languish.

What resonated with me more than anything was that we were told we were not out there for us, but would be representing Jesus. It was all about Him and our eternal and complete dedication to Him. That meshed with the new me and confirmed in my mind that this first goal was the right goal.

When I emerged soaking wet, I felt cleansed, filled with the Holy Spirit, and like a brand-new person. It was the best feeling I ever remembered having in my life. It was a new beginning for me, while at the same time a continuation of keeping my promises I’d made to the Lord on 9/11. I felt like everything I did put a smile on God’s face, something I hadn’t done for Him in years. In turn, that put a smile on my face. I was now ready to continue on to my third goal: finding Paul.