Never Forget

Today marks 20 years since 9/11.  A grim anniversary if ever there was one.

It's a day I carry with me, burned in my brain. It changed me. And I have a sick pit in my stomach each year as I am triggered by the tributes.

They say "never forget." 

If you lived it, you know that's not remotely possible.

To mark the 10th anniversary, I wrote this.  Here's how I feel today...

I remember how much I loved my commute to lower Manhattan each day through the World Trade Center, feeling like I'd "made it" at age 28.

I remember riding the long escalator up from the PATH trains that connected NY & NJ, emerging in a sea of energy and hustle, like this was the center of the universe.

I remember working on a sponsorship for Risk Magazine's financial conference at Windows on the World on the top floor of the Trade Center, scheduled for September 11, 2001.

I remember our speaker canceling his appearance days before, so thankfully, we wouldn't need to attend that conference after all.

I remember how beautiful it was that Tuesday morning.

I remember being stopped on my way to work by a local schoolteacher who had car trouble, which put me behind schedule.

I remember parking my car in Hoboken like every normal day, then hearing a horrible boom behind me.

I remember seeing the parking attendant's face lose all color, then being afraid to turn around to look across the Hudson River.

I remember seeing smoke surround one of the Twin Towers

I remember instantly calling my dad who worked in the building to see if he was alright.

I remember he said they felt a big jolt but were ok and were told to stay put.

I remember getting cut off mid-conversation as the cell towers jammed.

I remember walking over to the entrance of the PATH to stand next to a police officer so I could hear his radio.

I remember a stranger who grabbed my hand as we watched a second plane fly into the upper floors on the right side of South Tower, and not come out.

I remember the screams and gasps of the commuters standing around me as we all saw the unthinkable with our own eyes.

I remember desperately trying to get across the river to see if I could help my dad.

I remember a kind officer who turned me away.

I remember calling my mom who told me to come right home.

I remember driving on Route 3 past Giants Stadium, with tears streaming down my face, seeing the burning buildings in the distance.

I remember Peter Jenning's voice on the radio announce that the South Tower had collapsed, then almost driving head-first into a highway divider. 

I remember pulling up our driveway, having no idea if my father was alive.

I remember walking into the living room and seeing my mother rocking back and forth on the couch while saying they just celebrated their 35th wedding anniversary.

I remember my brother coming home, eyes red from crying.

I remember the three of us standing together in the middle of the living room as we watched the North Tower collapse on live TV.

I remember my 6'5" brother drop into a ball on the floor, as I ran to the kitchen sink to throw up.

I remember hours dragging by, wavering between sheer grief and utter numbness.

I remember hearing the phone finally ring but feeling terrified to pick it up.

I remember hearing an operator ask if we would accept a collect call from John.

I remember us screaming YES into the phone and hearing my father's voice on the other end.

I remember my mom telling him to keep walking to my aunt's apartment, more than 80 blocks away on the Upper East Side.

I remember the city being on lockdown with no one getting in or out.

I remember leaving a voicemail for a good friend who worked at Aon on the upper floors of the Trade Center, worried the worst had happened to her.

I remember calling another good friend who's father was a chief in the FDNY, praying he would make it home.

I remember our relief hours later when my father called again, safe at my aunt's apartment.

I remember my aunt telling us he was dazed and covered in soot.

I remember staying up all night long watching cable news, my mind racing yet completely unable to process the day's events.

I remember my dad coming home the following day in my uncle's clothes.

I remember my whole family hugging on our front lawn.

I remember going to an Italian restaurant that Saturday night with my mom and dad, brother, aunt and uncles to celebrate my dad's life.

I remember thinking how many families were not as lucky as we were.

I remember him telling us that he helped direct traffic as people evacuated the building, amidst the carnage, and left shortly before it all came crashing down because he was looking for me.

I remember the profound sorrow, fear and anger.

I remember the extraordinary stories of courage.

I remember the surge of patriotism that united us all.

I remember returning to work the following Tuesday.

I remember seeing the missing person posters that hung all over Hoboken.

I remember riding a ferry boat to cross the Hudson River because the PATH station no longer existed.

I remember the boat being packed but completely silent, as my eyes welled up with tears.

I remember stepping onto Pier 11 in NYC alone and seeing armed guards and a giant military tank.

I remember seeing the face of my sweet boss through the crowd because my mom called and asked him to meet me at the boat to walk me to work on Water Street.

I remember the awful smell of death that still hung in the air and stung my nose.

I remember the soot that still covered every surface like a blanket.

I remember feeling like a zombie.

I remember slowly hearing familiar names trickle in of people I knew, lives tragically lost...

Brett Bailey, Billy Micciulli, Chris Dunne, Christopher Slattery, Ian Schneider, Jonathan Capello, Michele Du Berry, Paul Bristow, and Marc Murolo. 

I remember sitting in the office with my boss, Greg, and my colleague, Roger, and crying together.

I remember doing this same somber commute, across the river, week after week after week.

I remember having a panic attack one day in Battery Park on my way to work as I walked past The Sphere, a bronze statue recovered in the rubble of Ground Zero.

I remember two years after the attack when the PATH trains reopened in Lower Manhattan.

I remember seeing daylight from an underground train as we traced the perimeter of a building that no longer stood above it.

I remember the resilience of New York.

I remember three jobs later when my company announced we would be moving to the new One World Trade Center.

I remember knowing I would have to leave that job because I didn't have the heart or stomach to work where 2,753 souls were lost.

Every year at this time -- and often at times in between -- I'm reminded of this. All of it flashes through my mind like a horror movie I can't unsee.

And the worst part of it is, despite the heroic efforts of our troops for two decades, I fear we're less safe today than we were on September 10th 2001.  I pray for everyone who is suffering right now and more than anything, I pray for peace.