15 years ago my first grade class was moved into the gym with the rest of the school before normal ending time. We weren’t allowed to leave until they got in contact with someone to guarantee there’d be someone to take us off the bus.
When my sister and I got home my dad was there but his suit was covered in soot. He told us that he had to walk out of Manhattan because trains weren’t running because the Twin Towers were attacked and collapsed.
It didn’t make sense to me. Two weeks ago we had been on the roof of one of the towers when we went to visit my mom at work, as she worked on that block. How could they just not be there anymore?
And worse where was my mom?
She didn’t get home until late at night, dirty and exhausted. We hadn’t been able to contact her and until that moment we didn’t even know if she was still alive.
I ran to her crying and screaming how I thought she was dead and I didn’t let go of her for the rest of the night.
I was lucky. There are many people who’s parents or friends did not walk in their door that night. Who didn’t get to hug them and hold on all night.
We will always remember the people who were working in that building and didn’t make it home that night. The brave men and women who went into the chaos in order to try and bring someone out.