09/11/2026
I found my mind wandering to one of my favorite places to visit all day. I don’t remember how old I was the first time I visited New York City, probably just a baby. I don’t remember how old I was when I saw my first Broadway play or what year my family and I rode the ferry out to see Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty for the first time. But there is a certain magic to New York City that sticks with you. How an itty bitty bagel shop at the crossroads of the world can somehow feel like a small-town experience.
So 25 years ago, as I was eating Wheat Chex and watching Good Morning America before one of the first Tuesdays of my junior year of high school, the first plane hit the World Trade Center, and NYC didn’t feel like some far-off place. It felt deeply personal.
I remember watching the images on television and trying to comprehend what I was seeing. The news anchors, Diane Sawyer and Charlie Gibson, did not think at that time that it was a commercial flight. They thought it had to have been some kind of accident, possibly resulting from a mistake by a hobby pilot. I remember the fear, the confusion, and then the terrible realization that this wasn’t just an accident.
Twenty-five years later, it’s hard to comprehend that it has been that long. My kids have been lucky enough to have some of the same magical New York City experiences I had growing up, but they will never know a world before 9/11.
Today, I’m remembering the nearly 3,000 people who never made it home, the families who were forever changed, and the first responders and ordinary people who ran toward danger when everyone else was running away, as well as those we have lost in the fight against terror that followed.
We remember. 🇺🇸
To Patriot Day. ❤️🤍💙
