Twenty-Five Years Later: We Remember

Twenty-five years.

Some dates live on a calendar.

Some anniversaries are celebrated.  Others are carried.

Others divide time into before and after.

September 11, 2001, is one of those dates.

For me, it is also deeply personal.

I was supposed to be much closer to (in) the World Trade Center, that morning.   My then fiancée (now husband) was supposed to be across the street.   Even twenty-five years later, there is something unsettling about writing those words. The what if never entirely disappears.

I remember talking to a co-worker on the phone as she muttered "Oh my God!"  "What?"  Silence. Silence. Sob. Click.  It was 8:47 AM.  I called back and was told all lines were down..... I called my folks at home. I got a cheery "Hello!" they had not turned on the TV yet.  I told them to turn on the TV.  "Wow, there was a plane accident and they clipped the World Trade Center!"  "Wow, let me go find a TV, I'll call you back."  It was 8:51.

But this isn't a story about me.

Because September 11 belongs to thousands of stories.

Stories of people who kissed someone goodbye that morning, expecting to see them at dinner.  Stories of people who may have quarrelled with a loved one this morning and the loved one wanted an apology and now all they want is to hear that voice just one more time - sorry or not, no longer mattered.

People who grabbed a coffee, complained about the traffic, hurried for a train, answered an email, sat down at a desk or boarded a plane.

It began as an ordinary Tuesday.

Until it wasn't.

And perhaps that is one of the reasons the memory remains so powerful. We learned, in the most terrible way imaginable, how quickly an ordinary day can become a dividing line in history.

What I Remember Most

Of course, I remember the images.

We all do.

But twenty-five years later, I find myself thinking more about the people.

The firefighters climbing the stairs while others were coming down.

Police officers, paramedics and ordinary citizens who moved toward danger because someone needed help.

Strangers helping strangers.

People opening their homes.

People standing in lines to donate blood.

Churches opening the door for members and non-members to come in and pray, hug, talk, share a cup of stale coffee....

People desperately trying to reach family members and friends.  People far from home left wondering how to get there.

People asking a very simple question:

“What can I do?”

There was unimaginable horror that day.

But amid that horror, there was also extraordinary humanity.  And that is what I want you to reflect on. |For that deserves to be remembered, too.

Twenty-Five Years

There is now an entire generation of adults who were not alive on September 11, 2001.

They know it through photographs.

Videos.

History lessons.

Stories told by parents, grandparents, teachers and people like me who still remember exactly where we were when the world seemed to stop.

That means something important has quietly changed.

Those of us who remember are becoming the storytellers.

And with that comes a responsibility.

Not to sensationalize.

Not to politicize.

Not to turn tragedy into a slogan.

Simply to remember.

To remember the people who went to work that morning and never came home.

To remember the passengers and crews aboard the four aircraft.

To remember the first responders who ran toward danger.

To remember those who survived but carried the physical and emotional consequences long after the television cameras disappeared.

And to remember the families who have lived twenty-five years with someone missing from the photograph.

Twenty-five birthdays.

Twenty-five holiday seasons.

Weddings.

Graduations.

Grandchildren.

Sunday mornings.

Ordinary Tuesdays.

Life continued.

But someone didn't.

Perhaps We Can Remember This, Too

For a brief time after September 11, we looked at one another differently.  We appreciated each other.  We were empathetic.  Sometimes I think we need more of that empathy back.

We checked on neighbors.

We called people we loved.

We thanked first responders.

We held doors.

We helped strangers.

We understood, with terrible clarity, that the person standing beside us was not quite as much of a stranger as we had imagined.

Maybe that is worth carrying forward.

Not just today.

Not just on anniversaries ending in five or zero.

But on the wonderfully boring, gloriously ordinary days when nothing historic happens.

Because twenty-five years later, perhaps one of the greatest ways we can honor those who lost their lives is to appreciate the simple privilege of living ours.

LG3 will not ask you to register for anything.  We won't ask you to learn it, grow with it, and own it.  But this is what you should do if you need.  Grow.  Look back, look ahead, look up, look down, look, listen and grow.  

We won't tell you about a new course.

There is no call to action.

Except, perhaps, this one:

Remember.

Remember the lives.

Remember the courage.

Remember the families.

Remember the helpers.

And if you can, be a little kinder to the stranger standing beside you.  Be more empathetic.  Be more present.

Because none of us knows when an ordinary day will become a day we remember forever.

September 11, 2001

Twenty-five years later. Never forgotten.