Reflections on 9/11: Two Decades Later

It’s astonishing to think that twenty years have passed since 9/11. This date remains vividly ingrained in my memory, much like a happy moment, though the associated trauma also lingers. The world has transformed significantly—personally and nationally. At times, the memories of my life before that day feel distant. Without media reminders, it would be hard to believe those times existed.

In the summer of 2002, I spent time in the Midwest with my brother’s family. As soon as people learned I’m from New York City, their first question was invariably, “Were you there on 9/11?” I would respond with a smile, trying to navigate the conversation without delving too deep into the painful details. Even now, the wound feels fresh. This marks only the second time I’ve written about my experience.

In comparison to many of my peers, I was relatively unscathed by that day’s events. Friends who attended schools closer to the World Trade Center have faced far greater challenges over the last two decades. Some live with PTSD and anxiety, while one friend is currently battling breast cancer linked to her exposure near the site. Another friend’s mother developed cancer due to their proximity to the towers.

Typically, I take a break from social media on 9/11. Having experienced the day firsthand, I struggle with the relentless flood of images. Discussing that day with those who weren’t there feels different; there’s a unique bond among those who shared the collective trauma. I often only speak about it with my father, as we share the closest memories of that day. I don’t bring it up with former classmates or friends from other schools—it’s just too painful.

I understand the need for public memorials; that day changed the world. It’s a memory that refuses to fade, no matter how hard one tries. The constant replay of those harrowing images—planes crashing, people falling, and the chaos—takes me back to that terrified teenager who feared that the city she loved would never be the same.

My dad and I often check in on each other that day, though less frequently as time passes. He was a reporter during that time, and he spent the days following 9/11 as close to Ground Zero as possible, interviewing first responders and witnesses. I recall him returning home covered in the same ash and debris I had seen in the news. His stories, such as learning about a Black police sergeant on the scene, provide a unique perspective that often goes unacknowledged.

I was just 15 when the attacks happened. It was the second week of my sophomore year, and I didn’t need to be at school until 9 AM. That morning, I left our Brooklyn apartment as usual; my mom was on Staten Island, and my dad intended to go to the United Nations. I took my routine route, blissfully unaware of the chaos that would soon unfold.

One detail from that day remains vivid: the sky was an extraordinary blue, with fluffy clouds drifting by as I walked to school. Upon arrival, I heard a student mention a plane hitting the World Trade Center, which I dismissed as a minor incident. I would not grasp the full extent of the tragedy for several hours.

While I won’t recount every detail, I was among the few students with a working cell phone that day—a basic Nokia. I had to call my dad to allow friends to use it to figure out how to get home, as subways to downtown were shut down. If not for my habit of arriving early, I could have been caught on the 4 train that morning.

My mom witnessed the second plane strike the towers while on the ferry. She was stranded on Staten Island when they shut down the ferry and all bridges. My dad never reached the United Nations; he was home, keeping me updated. The O-Town concert I had planned for that night was, of course, canceled, and our only entertainment became the news, which played the horrifying footage on a constant loop.

This is why I don’t feel the need to memorialize 9/11 on social media. I can recall those memories anytime; the blue sky and the silence that enveloped the city are still fresh. Manhattan is rarely quiet, yet on that day, it was eerily so, even far uptown.

Although I typically don’t engage with memorials, I have watched numerous specials about the children who lost parents that day. As a mother now, it breaks my heart in profound ways. Those kids aren’t babies anymore—they’re in their early twenties, navigating a world they barely understand. I think of them and the children in my life who only know a world filled with loss and conflict.

The impact of September 11, 2001, is far-reaching. Air travel has changed forever; I miss the days of directly dropping off loved ones at their gates. We’ve waged an unnecessary war for nearly two decades, and parts of New York City are heavily policed, creating a sense of unease that hasn’t lessened even after all this time.

I’m not here to dictate how anyone should remember 9/11. If you want to share that familiar image of the lights where the towers once stood, that’s your choice. Just know it can be difficult for many to see. Everyone processes grief differently. Two of my friends post pictures of cute animals to distract from the painful memories. I choose to spend the day with my child, reflecting on how far my life has come since that day. One day, he might learn about it in school, and I’ll share with him how the New York City I knew and loved changed forever when the towers fell.

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Summary

This reflective piece explores the lasting impact of 9/11 on personal and societal levels, highlighting the author’s memories and how her life changed. The text emphasizes the unique experiences of those who lived through the events and the ongoing trauma for many. It acknowledges the need for memorialization while recognizing that each person processes grief differently.