Dignified and respectful quietude speaks much louder than pomp and circumstance when it comes to remembering those who died. "Never forget" is correct. But the place to remember is in our hearts, not in lavish ceremonies.
John was supposed to be on the 98th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center on the morning of September 11, 2001. And because of a fateful decision, he is here, with me, today.
They were everywhere, because the people were nowhere. The city, as any creature would, eventually healed. The pulse thrummed again. The streets rushed again. But the fluttering, The Missing, they stay with me.
If there is a thimbleful of good that came out of the truckload of devastation from Sept. 11, not that it would be worth it in any way, we all did snap out of our zombie mode and realized, even if only briefly, that our life is right now. And that's what I want to say today.
I left my bags in the car and ran into Logan to check the status of outbound flights, still not comprehending the enormity of what had happened. The staff at the counter, men and women, seasoned and new to the job, were all weeping.
On September 11, 2001, I learned never to take peace for granted. Over a decade later, it is now our turn to be tested. Will we bask in the pleasure of our own resilience, or will we truly go to any length to stand behind peace?
My father, Bob Parks, worked for Cantor Fitzgerald and died in the World Trade Center attacks. There is never a convenient or easy time to talk about such a life-altering event. But, to omit such an important component of my personal life would render any relationship I have unfulfilled.
How very strange. I sort of came to, wading out of a fugue, and realized: What am I doing? I was doing something, to the continuing coverage of the tragedy on the East Coast. I was creating order in... chaos.
by Lobna Ismail and Alex Kronemer Washington, DC - The power of the American story -- E Pluribus Unum. The idea that out of many nations, sects and e...
I had spoken with my husband Tom, and I heard the fear and screams in the background. I saw the images on TV of his building engulfed in flames. All those innocent people trapped above the point of impact in the North Tower had no chance of survival -- no chance of rescue.
No one woke up in September of 2001 and checked their Facebook notifications. There was no Facebook (created in 2004), no Twitter (created in 2006), and remarkably, no YouTube (created in 2005). Even texting was rare.
he names become a poem, the names become prayer. And what have we learned from this beyond that men can weep out loud in public and embrace each other in grief and that race means nothing?
The Freedom Tower and I are one. With a glass complexion, we reflect the vitality of our present. With a steel spine, we are strong enough to confront the future. We have grown up together. We are powerful. We stand tall in face of our past.
For me, and for the thousands of men and women who spend much of their waking hours on the Chambers Street campus of BMCC, the renewal of lower Manhattan has deeply personal implications.
This day is also about remembering the heroes who are still here, who touched our lives and held our family up as we struggled to process our enormous loss and rebuild our lives in the years that followed.
I'll admit it: I have been afraid to go to Ground Zero. Since 9/11/01 I've probably been to New York City 10 times. I have no excuse but just what I've said -- Fear. Fear of what? The horror? Empathy? Sympathy? My imagination? The human heart? That there would be an element of voyeurism? That somehow it wouldn't be memorialized in a way that felt reverent? Then I met Christie Coombs.
Our history books and classes seem to identify history as, at minimum, a generation or two in the past. Recent events are overlooked or ignored. Do educators believe that something is not history until decades have passed?
In the wake of the 9/11 tragedy, we witnessed incredible amounts of hope, love, and above all, courage within individuals and groups from around the w...
While volunteering during the cleanup of 9/11, 8,000 pounds of steel crushed John Feal's foot. He ended up starting the FealGood Foundation, a nonprof...
There was an air about ground zero that was not filled with sadness so much as something like love. No one looked as though they had slept.