Why our 9/11 stories matter

Like most, I am reliving the moments that I witnessed the attack on the World Trade Center, Flight 93 and the Pentagon on September 11, 2001. The passing of time, especially two decades of time cannot go unnoticed. It is strange to think of how much I, and my life have changed in the last twenty years.

I remember the day vividly, because it was one of those perfect fall days where the sky is cobalt blue, the air feels just a bit crisp and there is not a cloud in the sky. I was living at home with my mom, just two short months from my wedding in November. Just three-days earlier, we had celebrated my sister's wedding. Needless to say, I was filled with joy and excitement for the months ahead.

I remember where I was in those initial moments. A small office at the Broome County Office Building, where I worked as "Executive Assistant for Public Affairs" for the County Executive, the late Jeff Kraham. It was a quiet morning, until it wasn't. I started to hear chatter and gasps among our small but tight-knit staff and suddenly, we were all standing in Jeff's office, watching it in real time on tv. Watching with disbelief and immediate despair.

There are moments when, as a nation of individuals, we share a collective vulnerability. I remember tears on faces of so many around me, as I wiped away mine. We stood stunned, and zombie-like, unable to assemble anywhere near the appropriate words for what was happening. In a more lucid state, I ran to my phone and began to call my friend Jon, who was working for Deutsche Bank, whose office was near the towers. The difficulty in getting calls to go through for so long left my mind to wander. After several hours, I learned from his family that he was in fact, ok. Visiting Ground Zero with him just a few years later, watching tears well up in his eyes, I knew, he, nor anyone really, was ok.

Within the weeks that followed I learned that a former fellow St. Bonaventure alum and classmate Rob Peraza with Cantor Fitzgerald had died. I did not know Rob well, but my interactions with him were always fun and playful and I wish I had known him better. I also learned Father Mychal Judge, also a Bonaventure alum, advocate for the poor and disenfranchised, and an NYC Fire Chaplain in Lower Manhattan died. He had gone to the towers to pray. He had gone to the towers...and the images of firefighters carrying his body out of the rubble will be forever in my mind.

So that is my story of 9/11. It is not overly profound, but it's important to me. It is important to share our 9/11 stories. It is important to remember how we felt and how we mourned together. It is important to remember that this grand experiment works only when we can be vulnerable as a collective nation.

I also believe in the timing of things. We are experiencing some of the greatest tests to the social contract and our obligation to one another. Perhaps tomorrow is a divine reminder of what we stand to lose.

I did not spend a lot of time in New York in 2001, but I do now. It is one of my favorite places in the world. If you happen to spend time in Lower Manhattan and near the memorial (and if not, you should), you will feel the quiet strength of a nation buoyed by those we lost.

So that is my 9/11 story and I will never forget.

Be well. #neverforget